


The Lost Centurion

by Drogna



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Gen, Gideon the Druid, Human!Gideon, Leonard is a Badass, Queen Sara, Rip the Roman, RipFic, Roman Britain AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-15 13:38:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 63,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11807067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drogna/pseuds/Drogna
Summary: It's 61AD. Centurion Lacerius Venator is serving with Legio XX Valeria Victrix in Roman Britain when he is captured by the Waverider Tribe. Unusually, they keep him alive, and he finds himself caught up in their plan to take on an Empire and make their own peace in their corner of the world.Or the one where Rip is a Roman Centurion and the Waverider crew are a tribe of Britons looking for a way to defeat the Romans. The crew all have appropriate roles within the tribe.





	1. tum de salute, mox de victoria certavere

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Roman Britain AU which jumped me in my sleep one night. I have no excuse. It is the bastard child of Legends of Tomorrow, Gladiator and Rome.
> 
> The Romans had very disparaging views of the Britons, so there was mutual dislike on both sides and given that the Romans are the bad guys in this story, Rip and the Legends don't get along too well to begin with. That will change.
> 
> Also a couple of words on historical accuracy: I've done my best to make this correct for the time period, however I have taken some liberties where things are unknown or it was just too much fun not to. So unfortunately it is not historically accurate for the Vandals to be anywhere near Rome at this point, but because I wanted savage Vandals, they are. I studied Classics many years ago, and I'm putting my knowledge to use here, however, I'm not as well versed on the tribes of Britain and their lifestyle at this point, so I've researched what I can.
> 
> Rip's Roman Name is Centurion Agrippa Lacerius Venator Drusanus, which is basically a Latin translation of Rip Hunter, but Romans had at least three names, so he is Agrippa as the closest I could get to Rip (and maybe that is actually what Rip is short for, because I could just imagine Rip picking that). Roman names were complicated and generally Romans were addressed by their second name, so he is usually called Lacerius, except by close family. Friends of equal rank might call him Venator.

"Non sane alias exercitatior magisque inambiguo Britannia fuit: trucidati veterani, incensae coloniae, intercepti exercitus; tum de salute, mox de victoria certavere."

“Never indeed had Britain been more agitated, or in a more critical condition. Veteran soldiers had been massacred, colonies burnt, armies cut off. The struggle was then for safety; it was soon to be for victory.” - Tacitus, Agricola, bk 5

* * *

   


***AD 61***

The Centurion would not have predicted that it was a swearword that would save his life, but Fortuna often seemed to like to play with him. He did not always appreciate her games.

It was a grey and overcast day, with a cutting wind that swept across the rolling grass-covered hills of southeast Britannia. As Primus Pilus, or First Spear, of the Legio XX Valeria Victrix, he should have been dealing with marshalling the cohort back at the fort rather than leading this foray into the wilds of Britannia. But, and there was always a but, his father had sent specific orders that he be tasked with this duty. The job was too important to send any mere ordinary Centurion and century, only the highest ranked amongst the Centurions could be entrusted with this task.

Centurion Lacerius Venator very much wished that someone else had been given this tedious mission now. He stood with his century, fighting off one of the fiercest attacks by any tribe of Britons that he had ever come across. Many of his men had already fallen, but there was no easy way for them to retreat. This had been a carefully planned and well executed ambush, that had been sprung by a group who knew this territory well. They had entered an area of the road with rising terrain on both sides, and then their path had been blocked by a sudden landslide of stones, giving them no way to move forward. At their rear, the Britons had left their cover and charged, taking them by surprise. Meanwhile attackers on both ridges pelted the legionaries with stones. Lacerius would have been very impressed by their tactics under other circumstances, but with lives at risk, he found himself with other things on his mind.

He put his whistle in his mouth and blew, getting the attention of his remaining men. “Double formation!” he yelled, and watched somewhat proudly as his century did exactly as ordered. “Shields out! March!”

The men had formed two lines, back to back with shields out and facing the enemy. They now marched backwards, away from the enemy’s stone barricade, with Lacerius bringing up the rear. Stones were raining down on them, but at least progress was being made now. They clearly couldn’t employ their superior numbers in this arena. They had to get onto the open ground and there was only one way to do that, they would have to break through the enemy line behind them.

“Optio Gavius!” he shouted to his second in command. “Your orders are to get these men back to the fort.”

“Yes, Centurion,” replied his Optio.

Lacerius moved through the ranks of his men, shield at the ready. “I need two men with me.”

“Ave!” shouted several of his finest. He accepted the help of the two nearest, with a rapid hand signal in their direction and they followed him without question. He’d trained with these men and fought with them for years. They knew he would get them home if he could, and if he couldn’t then their death would be as honourable as he could make it.

“For the Twentieth!” he shouted, he drew his short sword, the gladius, and the three of them charged the line of Britons who were taken somewhat by surprise by their attack. He and his helpers carved out enough of a hole that the advancing century, previously hampered by its larger size and the fact that it was a more obvious target, were able to march through.

Lacerius shouted at his two companions to rejoin the century, and he saw them do as asked before he too also went to make his retreat. He slashed at his enemy, drawing blood, but also stepping away from them towards the safety of his century’s shields. A slingshot stone knocked the helmet from his head.

“Orgjian!” he swore.

One of the Britons, who was wearing strange red armour, and could be their leader, looked at him in a very peculiar way, but he didn’t have time now to contemplate what that might mean. These people were barbarians after all.

The Centurion’s helmet had a large plume and they were expensive to replace. He didn’t particularly want the item’s cost docked from his wages. He would already be in enough trouble for failing to fulfil his mission. He kicked the helmet behind him, intending to pick it up as he moved backwards. Unfortunately, a second stone found his now unprotected head. Lacerius fell to the ground, on his knees, with his skull ringing from the blow. He had a horrible feeling that he knew what followed and it wouldn’t be good.

There were about a twenty very angry Britons behind him and they all wanted him dead. He gripped his sword, ready to go down fighting. He caught a glimpse of his Optio, Gavius, who was clearly thinking about turning around to save him.

“Go!” he shouted, trying to get to his feet again. “Return to the fort! I’ll catch up!” Liar, he thought. He’d be dead in less than a minute. At least Gavius was capable of doing as he was told. He ordered the century onwards, back towards the fort, and now the Britons were distracted by him so they stood a good chance of getting away.

“By Mars, I will take as many of you down with me as my strength will allow!” By his reckoning, he might get a couple before he was overwhelmed. He was rapidly being surrounded on all sides.

“Sedajeo!” shouted the Britton who had looked at him strangely earlier. Apparently, his earlier assumption had been correct, he commanded these men because he issued orders now. “Kirken ris. Sele ris biwotut.”

Lacerius realised that he half understood that. The Brittonic language was mangled garbage compared to the beauty of Latin, but he’d picked up enough to be able to hold a conversation. The Britton had just told them to stop, surround him and take him alive. That was unexpected and not something that he intended to let happen.

However, the dark-haired Briton was now looking at him with interest and the men had stopped. Lacerius used the distraction to push himself to his feet and stood there shakily, defiantly holding his sword ready. He realised how ridiculous he must look, with blood pouring from the cut on his forehead, but he was incapable of giving up and letting this happen.

“Thu bede Albioni?” asked the man. Lacerius translated that to something like “do you speak Brittonic?” For a second, he wondered how the man had known, until he remembered his use of a Brittonic swearword. It had always amused his men that he swore in the native language of the country that they were conquering. He’d never really considered why they were the swearwords that came most naturally to his lips.

“Tha, beag.” He hoped that he’d just said “yes, a little” but he suspected that his accent was terrible. He’d also just admitted to something that he wasn’t at all proud of, and if his father ever found out, he’d be in a great deal of trouble. Perhaps it might buy him some time to get away though.

“Mi sele ris biwotut. An dunjo ankena tameo.” The man’s hands were out in a placatory gesture.

Lacerius shook his head. He would not be taken alive. That was basically what the Briton was saying, he wanted to take him alive and no one needed to die now. He had heard stories of what these Britons did to their prisoners, and he did not intend for that to happen to him. If he was going to die then it would be in battle, not tortured by a tribe of Britons until he died of his injuries. He slashed out with his sword, uncoordinated and with poor technique. The injury to his head was affecting him, but he refused to stop fighting. One of the men grabbed his sword arm and another grabbed his torso. He couldn’t shake off so many attackers and before long Lacerius was down, pinned to the ground.

Ropes were tied around him, but he continued to struggle, yelling crossly.

“You damned barbarians. Let me die with honour!”

There was some kind of apology, which was weird and unexpected. Then a fist slammed into his jaw and he didn’t even notice his fall into unconsciousness, it was so rapid.

***

Consciousness came to him more slowly. He could feel the bite of rough ropes around his neck, ankles and wrists. He was lying on his side, slightly curled, and if he tried to move his hands then it pulled on the rope around his neck. There was pain in his head and jaw, but he knew that it would pass. He could no longer feel the heavy weight of his armour, or of his sword at his belt, and his boots were gone. He wasn’t surprised by that.

He pulled open his eyes sluggishly and tried to make sense of where he was. It was dry, and there seemed to be a rock wall in front of him. He lay on earth, and the place was lit by orange flames. It smelt of something strongly herbal and reminded him vaguely of something from his childhood, but as soon as he attempted to pin down the memory, it was gone.

He tried to shuffle into a position that would relieve the pressure on his neck. Instead he accidentally pressed upon the cut on his head and the pain was suddenly sharp rather than dull. He groaned without thinking.

“Disufenajeog?” asked a female voice, from behind his back. “Swilla?”

His brain wasn’t sharp enough to help him with those words. He did his best to squirm towards the rock wall and push himself up into a sitting position. With both hands and feet tied, it wasn’t easy, but he did manage it eventually and leaned back against the wall breathing hard.

He could now see the woman who had spoken to him. She had light brown hair, that fell in curly waves over her shoulders, and hazel eyes, and was currently observing him critically. Had she not been a Briton he might even have considered her to be pretty, but she was barbarian scum and beneath his contemplation. She wore a white robe of the type that he’d seen the priests of the Britons wearing, cinched by a belt in the middle and with a long-sleeved tunic beneath.

He could make out the shapes of other Britons towards what seemed to be the entrance to a cave. A fire burned in a hearth nearby, generating smoke that seemed at least partially responsible for the herbal odour. There appeared to be a stack of earthenware jars at one end of the cave and plants hung, drying in the smoke from the ceiling.

He reached up to touch the cut on his head and found it had been cleaned. There was no blood crusted on his face as he would have expected. He frowned. He would not have expected these barbarians to do something like that.

The woman held out an earthenware cup towards him.

“Degu, swilla,” she said. “Wiska.”

Water. He understood that. He shook his head. She might say it was water but there were rumours of the magic that the Britons used and the potions that they made. He had no wish for a spell to be put on him.

She placed the cup on the ground, easily in his reach. “ _Drink or don’t,”_ she said, as he finally worked out what she’d said before. “ _Die or don’t,_ ” she added.

“Degu” was “drink”. It was such a long time since he’d heard or spoken this language, but it was coming back to him the more he heard. “Swilla” seemed to be the form of address she was using for him, and he wasn’t sure it was entirely polite.

“Ni me taro,” he said. “ _I won’t._ ”

“ _Die or drink_?” she asked.

“ _Drink_ ,” he replied.

“ _Then you are a fool_ , swilla,” said the woman.

“ _Probably poisoned,”_ he said.

“ _So, you speak our language_?” she asked.

“ _Yes, a little. I am… not in practice_ ,” he said.

“ _You are unusual for a_ swilla,” she said.

“Swilla?” he asked.

She mimed something crawling along the ground. Maybe it meant insect, so he’d been right that it wasn’t exactly complimentary. He’d called Britons worse though, so he supposed it was only fair.

“ _Ah. I see._ _Am I allowed to know the name of my captor_?” he asked.

“ _You are a prisoner of the Untaridi_ ,” she said. “ _My name is Gideon_.”

He took in a surprised breath. He was a prisoner of the Untaridi, the Waverider Clan. They were renowned as tough fighters and cunning adversaries. However, he had never heard of them taking prisoners before now, especially not a Roman. He looked away for a moment, suddenly contemplating his current predicament. His options here were very few.

“ _Will you give me your name,_ swilla?” she asked.

He looked up at the woman, Gideon. He doubted it would do much harm to give his name, since he did not expect to be here long. He was already formulating escape plans, but it was much more likely that he was about to be tortured to death by his captors, so one way or another he would not remain a prisoner.

“ _I am Centurion_ Agrippa Lacerius Venator Drusanus _, First Spear of the Twentieth Legion,_ Valeria Victrix.”

“ _That is a long name for such a slight man_ ,” replied Gideon.

“ _Most address me as Centurion_ Lacerius Venator,” said Lacerius, ignoring the insult to his physique. He may not be as overtly muscled as some of his compatriots but he more than made up for it with his determination.

“ _One name is not enough for you_? _Even_ swilla _normally only have three_ ,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows at her knowledge, but clearly she didn’t know everything about Roman naming customs.

“ _I have the honour to carry both the name of my family,_ Lacerius, _and my adoptive father’s family,_ Drusus,” replied Lacerius.

“ _And the other names you bear_?”

“Agrippa _is my personal name, which only my family may call me by. I was called_ Venator _by my father for my prowess in hunting._ Venator _means “hunter” in Latin. I’m good with the bow,”_ he replied, wondering why he was telling her this. He had very rarely had to use his knowledge of Brittonic this much and he was having to concentrate, but he was finding understanding her easier the more he used the language.

He glanced towards the doorway and the men stood there. “ _Why didn’t they kill me?_ ”

“ _We needed you,_ swilla. _We need your knowledge_.”

“ _I will die before I tell you anything_ ,” he said.

Gideon smiled at that. “ _We will see.”_

 _“So you mean to…”_ he knew the word in Latin - torture, _cruciatus_ \- but not in Brittonic, _“force me?”_

 _“We are not a cruel people._ ”

“ _Really? Your Queen is known as_ Hasta _, the Lance, for her abilities in battle. She has killed more men than I have_ ,” he spat.

“ _I find that hard to believe_ , Centurion Lacerius Venator,” said Gideon, with acid in her tone. “ _I remember when the_ swilla _sacked Venta Iceni. I remember the procession of displaced people and the tales they told. How all the men were killed, the women and children enslaved, except those who ran from their burning homes. I remember them telling how the soldiers had boars on their shields, just like the one on the shield that we took from you and the double cross, just like yours_.”

Lacerius suddenly found himself without words. He had been there, at Venta Iceni, only a few months previously. There had been an uprising against the Romans and he had been ordered to help deal with it. The Iceni had been all but wiped from the face of the earth, but it had been a righteous fight. They had pledged their loyalty to Rome and then broken their vows.

However, he remembered the blood and the screaming, the heat of the fires that they burnt the town to the ground with, the smell of smoking wood, and the dead men who had been under his command. He had sent those men to their deaths. And they had killed the Iceni without mercy for their temerity to stand against the might of Rome. The Iceni had died honourably, protecting their homes, and he had been party to their slaughter. He still saw the faces of the dead in his dreams at night.

“ _I am a soldier of_ Rome _. I do as I am ordered_.” He spoke quietly.

He was not proud of his words, or of the truth of them. Nor was he particularly proud of what he was and what it stood for, but he had made his choice when he had asked Drusus to allow him to hunt down the Vandals who had murdered Miranda and Jonas.

“ _Then maybe you should look again at your chosen profession_ ,” said Gideon.

“ _I did not choose it, it chose me_ ,” he replied, crossly.

Lacerius kicked over the, most likely poisoned, cup of water that Gideon had placed in front of him.

“ _That was stupid_ ,” said Gideon. “ _If you don’t drink then you will die_.”

“ _That is my intention_ ,” replied Lacerius, and then finished his thought in Latin because he didn’t have the words in Brittonic. “It’s better than being tortured to death.”

Gideon shook her head, stood and left him in the cave with his own thoughts. Lacerius closed his eyes and tried to pretend he was anywhere but here. The rope around his neck pulled as he stopped holding his hands in position. His arms were aching and he couldn’t hold up his bound wrists any longer. He raised his knees and rested his fists upon them as a respite from the unpleasant feeling of the rope biting into the skin of his neck.

He doubted that there was any serious chance that he could escape this prison, with guards at the mouth of the cave and his ankles bound tightly, but he was not entirely ready to dismiss that possibility yet. However, his situation was not good and it could only worsen. It would not do for a Centurion of Rome to be tortured and kept as a prisoner of war by a mere tribe of barbarians. If word returned to his Legion, then his _digntas_ would be tainted forever.

He knew that his sword and armour were gone, but he hadn’t checked whether his other personal possessions were still present. He felt around his belt to the pouch he carried there. He had a small picture of his wife and son in it, painted at great expense upon a square of lacquered wood and carefully kept, wrapped in cloth. His fingers at full stretch found that the pouch only held the scrap of cloth now, and that realisation was like a physical punch to his gut. The single picture he had of them had been taken from him, and suddenly everything seemed all the more hopeless. He clutched his cloak, pulling it around himself and remembered the faces of his wife and their son. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too long before he was able to join them.

*** AD 59***

“Agrippa!” his adoptive father shouted. Zamanus Drusus Temporis was one of the few people who used his first name. He strode across the entrance hall of his country villa, his toga flapping in the slight breeze.

“Temporis,” he replied, with a smile. “You are looking well. I think the sea air must suit you.”

“And I think soldiering must suit you, my son,” said the older man, looking at Lacerius with some pride. The two men clasped arms in the customary style.

Lacerius was dressed in his full uniform, including his prized armilla, a gold bracelet presented for gallantry, and his phalerae, the metal discs arranged across his chest that detailed battles won and his honours. His red cloak and tunic were dusty from the road, but it had been a long ride.

“But alas, I’m soon to be leaving it,” said Lacerius. “I can’t continue to spend so much of my life away from home. It’s past time that I returned to Rome and started on my senate career.”

“I know that General Spinosus will be disappointed to lose you,” said Drusus.

“I’m a mere Centurion, I doubt he even knows that I exist,” replied Lacerius.

“I think you underestimate what being First Spear of the Twentieth means in political terms, Agrippa,” said Drusus. “You have the ear of generals and Spinosus in particular listens to your every word. I have it on good authority.”

Lacerius laughed. “I fear you exaggerate. Whereas I have it on good authority that you will be assuming the position of Consul in Rome at the next elections.”

Drusus smiled. “Well, we shall see how the ballots are cast, but I believe Fortuna will smile upon me this time.” He turned to usher Lacerius into the house. “Come now. You’ll want to bathe and change into a toga before dinner.”

“Of course,” he handed off his cloak and leather satchel to the slave who had come to take it.

“Danik will take you to your room. How long are you planning to stay?”

“A night, no more. I promised in my last letter that I would visit Miranda and Jonas one last time before I return to the Legion.”

“They’re at your villa in Pisea?” asked Drusus.

The two men walked together towards the sleeping quarters.

“Indeed. Jonas loves it there, by the sea. I feel quite mean that we’ll have to move to Rome once my current tour is up,” said Lacerius. “Miranda has been very happy there too.”

“Have you looked for property in the city yet?”

“I have, and purchased a suitable house on the Via Julii,” said Lacerius. “I really hope that Miranda likes it.”

Drusus chuckled. “You worry more about what your wife thinks than any other man I’ve met.”

“Whilst I know that you arranged our marriage for the benefit of both our families’ honour and advancement, I cannot thank you enough for the match you made. I love her dearly and she returns my love. She and Jonas are the centre of my world.” Lacerius had nothing that was more important to him than his family and it was a wrench every time he had to leave them to return to war.

Drusus laughed again. “If your men could hear you, then they would laugh you out of the centuria.”

Lacerius smiled himself then. “Then it is lucky that they are not here to hear it. I admit that I am a somewhat different person when with my family. However, I am not less of a soldier because of it.”

Drusus nodded. “Indeed, and Spinosus would have me ask you to take up another tour with the Twentieth.”

“You know I can’t. Miranda would never forgive me,” said Lacerius. “And I want to at least spend some time with my son before he is grown, teach him how to use a sword and ride a horse.”

“Spinosus has offered you a Tribunate if you remain,” said Drusus. “It is a generous offer.”

“It is, but I must decline. I have made promises, and cannot break them,” said Lacerius.

“A promise to a woman and a boy is no promise at all, Agrippa, not when the safety of the Empire is at stake,” replied Drusus.

“On the contrary,” replied Lacerius. “It is the most important promise I have ever made.”

Drusus again smiled, having probably known what his adopted son’s answer would be. “Of course, of course, and I will ensure that there’s a suitable post waiting for you in Rome. Go on, then, food will be ready when you are done.”

Lacerius went about the business of bathing to rid himself of the dirt from his ride to his father’s summer villa. It had been a long journey and he wasn’t done yet. He had only a brief stop here before he would continue on to visit his beloved wife and son. He was very much looking forwards to seeing them. It had been many months and no doubt Jonas would have grown. He had a small wooden horse in his saddle bag for him, and he was looking forwards to witnessing the joy on his face when he saw the gift.

He changed into the traditional toga. This one was patterned and a dark blue, something which was deemed gauche when in Rome, but here was entirely acceptable. As he stepped back into the atrium he saw his father talking to a servant. The servant was dismissed and the sound of a horse galloping away could be heard moments later.

“Problems?” asked Lacerius. It was late to be riding anywhere.

“Not at all,” smiled Drusus. “I just had to take care of a couple of small issues, including your refusal of Spinosus’ offer. A messenger was all that was required. You must be hungry.”

“Indeed I am. It has been some time since I’ve had a decent homecooked meal,” replied Lacerius, thinking about the camp fires back at the barracks, and the dubious fare they produced.

He ate dinner with his father, conversing about the ride and the army that he had left. General Spinosus was making short work of suppressing a Gaulish uprising and soon the Legion would be sent to Briton to help deal with the conquest of Britannia. Lacerius would not be joining them of course, which he was a little sad about even if he knew he’d rather be with Miranda and Jonas. He was a soldier of Rome and his duty was to go where he was ordered to protect the Empire, but that duty would be over soon. He was somewhat apprehensive about starting his new career in Rome, and how it would compare to trudging around Europe to deal with threats to the Empire.

The two men talked long into the evening and then Lacerius pleaded tiredness and an early start. He headed to bed, and slept well, dreaming of his reunion with his loved ones. The following day, he ate breakfast and bid farewell to his father. It was only a day’s ride to his own summer villa at Pisea, but he perhaps pushed his horse slightly more than he would have done under other circumstances, especially as he neared home.

He smelt the smoke long before he saw the fire. It wasn’t until he rounded the final bend that he realised the smoke billowing across the land was from his own farm. His villa was on fire. Every part of it was ablaze and his mind was suddenly consumed with fear. He kicked his horse into a gallop.

He got close enough to see the entrance to his house and there were the bloodied bodies of Miranda and Jonas lying on the front steps. He stumbled, going to his knees twice in his haste to reach them. He could not fully believe they were dead until he felt it with his own hands. The blood no longer moved in their veins. The breath had left their bodies.

He held their bodies in his arms, dragging them away from the fires inside the house, even though he knew that it was too late to save them. He screamed and cried, and begged the gods to take him too, or return the ones that he loved. He had no idea how long he sat with them in his arms, but the sky darkened and the sun rose again before he moved. A brief investigation of the area where he’d found the bodies produced weapons, of the kind that belong to the Vandal tribe of the Germanic peoples. Barbarians had murdered his wife and child; the evidence was there before him.

He dug graves, moving like an automaton. He buried his loved ones in the dark soil of his land, overlooking the sea so that Jonas and Miranda could still see the beach and water they so loved from their resting place. He buried the toy horse, that he had brought as a gift, with his son, tears spilling down his face so thickly that he could barely see at all. Jonas would never get to play with it now. Then he said the required prayers for the dead, feeling as if none of this was real.

He took his sword and held it to his own neck, but found himself unable to cut. He cursed himself as a coward, more tears falling down his cheeks. He could not even do the honourable thing and go to join his wife and son. He removed every piece of military honour insignia that he’d been awarded over his time in the Legion, dug a hole beside his wife’s grave and buried everything there. He was unworthy of it all, because he had failed to save and protect the one part of the Empire that he really cared about.

He spent another day and night at the villa, not really knowing what he should do with these broken, burnt out ruins but not wanting to leave them. He became hungry and cold, and didn’t really care. But he was due back with the Legion, and although he hated himself for it, he could not ignore his duty. He made the day’s journey back to his father’s house, where he tumbled from his horse, and he only vaguely remembered a slave helping him to stand. They took him to the room he’d slept in only two nights before and he stayed there, unmoving for many hours. His father came to him, trying to offer some words of reassurance and comfort, but there was nothing to be done. No words would help him. The two lights of his life were gone.

It took him a long time before he could even hear anything that was said to him. It was even longer before he was capable of forming coherent thought.

“Tell Spinosus that I’ll sign up again,” he finally told his father, “but only if we decimate the Vandals.”

There was negotiation, of course. Centurions did not normally get to dictate to the senate where their legions went, but the unusual attack on a Roman villa by a barbarian tribe was enough of an outrage that he got his wish. The fact that he was the adopted son of the consul elect helped considerably. He conceded the promotion that had originally been offered to him, and simply took up his previous position.

The Vandals had no idea what wrath they had drawn down upon themselves. The might of Rome, driven by the burning grief of one Centurion was a force to be reckoned with. The Legio XX Valeria Victrix dealt with the tribe that Lacerius believed to have killed Miranda and Jonas, and continued onwards on their mission to civilise the world under Roman rule.

They continued onwards to Britannia.


	2. Ferociae Britanni Praeferunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes at the end of the chapter.
> 
> Roman names for people that appear in this chapter:  
> Centurion Agrippa Lacerius Venator Drusanus - Rip Hunter  
> Consul Zamanus Drusus Temporis - Zaman Druce  
> General Eobardus Spinosus Celeritas - Eobard Thawne  
> Miranda of the Fluminii - Miranda Coburn (because "burn" is another word for river (flumen in Latin) and that appears to be the etymology of the surname.) Women were only given one name and Miranda is already Greek, so I saw no reason to change it.  
> Jonas Lacerius Venator - Jonas Hunter, being a boy, takes both is father's family name (nomen) and cognomen.
> 
> And the Britons mostly keep their own names, at least partly because we have so little information about Iron Age names that I couldn't translate them easily. It got a bit ridiculous to just add "ix" to the end in manner of the Asterix books. There's a couple of things thought:  
> Raymond, son of Arecacea - Arecacea is a Latin name for the palm tree  
> Valorix, Chief of the Nervii - Time Pirate, Captain Valor  
> Sara is called, in a very uncomplimentary way, Hasta by the Romans and Hasta means Lance. The Romans did not agree with female leaders, whereas the Britons were totally fine with it.
> 
> Most of the Legends do turn up in this chapter, but not all of them.
> 
> When people are speaking in a language that isn't Latin, it's in italics.

* * *

 

“Plus tamen ferociae Britanni praeferunt, utquos nondum longa pax emollierit.”

“The Britons, however, exhibit more spirit, as being a people whom a long peace has not yet enervated.” – Tacitus, Agricola, bk 11

***AD 61***

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he jerked himself awake when his bound hands pulled on the rope around his neck again. He opened his eyes to the cave and this time the dark-haired man who he’d seen on the battlefield was sat opposite him. He wasn’t wearing the unusual red armour that Lacerius had seen him wear earlier, but he did still have a red, metal bracer on each of his arms. He noted that his guards had moved into the cave and were closer to him now.

“Hello,” said the man. “Disufenajeog?”

Apparently, he still didn’t know what that word meant, but the more interesting thing was that the man had said “salve”, the Latin greeting, rather than “ande”, the Brittonic.

“You speak Latin?” he asked.

“ _I think you just asked if I speak_ Latin _? I heard_ Latin _, anyway. I don’t, sorry. Just a couple of words,”_ said the man, but Lacerius only caught about half of that because he was speaking too quickly for him to follow it.

Lacerius sighed. He had a splitting headache and knew he was suffering from the effects of not having drunk any water for some time now. He’d once spent time in Egypt, and he remembered what dehydration felt like from when he had run out of water in the hot desert sun. It was unpleasant and he was beginning to regret his choice not to drink the water he’d been offered earlier, but he had to be strong. He would not drink their poison.

“ _Gideon said your name is Lacerius Venator?_ ”

He nodded, not feeling like talking.

“ _You’re the First Spear of the 20 th Legion. A Centurion_.”

Again, he nodded. Somehow this man seemed to understand these terms. That was unusual. Barbarians weren’t supposed to understand the inner workings of the Roman army.

“ _My name is Raymond, son of Arecacea. I’m the one who persuaded everyone not to kill you_.”

“ _I would have preferred to die_ ,” said Lacerius.

“ _Gideon told us, but we’d like it if you didn’t die_ ,” said Raymond. “ _We need your help._ ”

“ _I would rather die than help_ barbarian _scum_ ,” said Lacerius. He had intended for the tone to be insulting and menacing, but he was weak and it didn’t quite have the required threat to it.

Raymond sighed. “ _I know. I know. I’m just interested in why you can speak Brittonic. I don’t want to know any military secrets or anything like that_.”

Lacerius shook his head again. He searched for the words of an appropriate reply, turning them over in his head before he spoke. “ _I have nothing to say to you_.”

“ _You’re the first_ swilla _that I’ve met that could speak our language. Normally you_ Romani _want us to speak your language. Where did you learn it_?”

Lacerius didn’t feel like answering, nor did he have a good answer to give. He rested his head back against the rock wall behind him.

“ _You’re not very talkative, are you_?” the dark-haired Untaridi sounded disappointed. Perhaps he had hoped for more from their prisoner, but Lacerius wasn’t inclined to oblige.

Raymond picked up a leather flask that sat at his side and poured water into the earthenware cup that he’d been offered before, then he took out a cloth and unwrapped a piece of bread. “ _You need to drink and eat. I didn’t save you from my tribesmen’s swords for you to die of thirst or starve yourself to death._ ” He held out the cup towards Lacerius. “ _Besides, I’m sure your family would like to see you again_.”

Lacerius couldn’t help but laugh painfully at that. “ _I am sure they would, and will if I continue to refuse to drink and eat._ ”

Raymond took out a small square of wood from a pouch at his belt, and Lacerius instantly recognised it as his picture of Miranda and Jonas. “ _Then their spirits have moved on?_ ”

That was a strange way of referring to death, but he supposed even barbarians might have a concept of the afterlife. He hated the way his wife and son’s picture was now being touched by the hands of a filthy barbarian.

“ _They are with the gods now_ ,” he replied.

“ _I grieve with you_ ,” said Raymond.

“ _And what would you know of my grief_?” he asked, with anger. He moved to snatch the picture from the hands of the barbarian, but found himself grabbed by one of his two guards before he could even get halfway, and pushed back into sitting position. “ _How dare you touch their portrait with your unclean hands_!” he shouted. “ _You desecrate their memory_.”

“ _Sit back down,_ swilla,” said Raymond, calmly, waving the guard to stand back. It was like he wasn’t afraid of Lacerius at all.

Lacerius couldn’t do anything but obey the order. There were too many people here to attempt an escape. He rubbed at his temple, trying to smooth away the headache, awkwardly with his bound hands.

“ _Headache?_ ” asked the barbarian. “ _I can get Gideon to make you something for it. You’ll feel better._ ”

“I won’t drink your poison,” said Lacerius, lapsing back into Latin because his head hurt too much to think of the words in Bittonic. Understanding needed less brain power, but he was really only getting every second word. He shook his head.

“ _You’re pretty stubborn, aren’t you? I promise you, I’m not going to hurt you_ ,” said Raymond.

He thought for a moment, and came up with a reply. “ _You knocked me out, captured me, tied me up and you appear to be keeping me in a cave. You’ll forgive me if I’m suspicious_ ,” he replied.

“ _Okay, I understand. You don’t trust us. Small steps_ ,” said Raymond. He reached out, picked up the cup and sipped the water, making sure that his prisoner was watching. Then he tore off a small piece of the bread and ate it.

Lacerius frowned. He hadn’t really expected that. Raymond wasn’t done yet though.

“ _I’ll make a deal with you. If you drink that cup of water and eat the bread, I will return their picture to you,”_ said Raymond, meeting Lacerius’ eyes.

Lacerius realised that he had revealed a weakness. He wanted the picture. He desperately wanted it. To look at their faces again and gain some comfort in this horrible place would be a balm to his battered soul. But he found it strange that all Raymond wanted was to keep him alive, and the man looked so sincere as he pushed the bread and water towards his prisoner. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to give in this once. He would need his strength if he wanted to escape, and it seemed that he’d been wrong about it being poisoned.

He tentatively reached towards the cup of water and took it in shaking hands. He sniffed the liquid inside, but could detect no unusual odour. He drank, his body reminding him how much it needed this. He repeated the procedure with the bread, but whilst he was unfamiliar with the grains used, it did not smell unpleasant or unlike bread should. He bit into it gratefully, his stomach growling with the anticipation of food. It wasn’t hard to drain the cup dry and finish the bread. Raymond topped up the cup with more water and he drank that too, giving in to his thirst.

He looked up to see Raymond giving him an approving look. The Britton held out the portrait of his wife and child, and Lacerius took it with his bound hands, brushing a thumb over his wife’s face. He held it to his lips and kissed the top of the wood, tenderly.

He murmured the standard prayer in Latin: “to the spirits of the dead, keep safe the souls of Miranda of the Fluminii and Jonas Lacerius Venator, until I may join them in the afterlife.” He replaced the picture in its protective cloth and put it back in his belt pouch.

“ _I thank you for this mercy_ ,” said Lacerius, and truly meant it, which surprised him a little. He would not have expected to be able to express genuine gratitude to his captor.

“ _My own betrothed is with the spirits now_ ,” said Raymond, looking down. “ _I know that I would have wanted to have her picture with me._ ”

Lacerius frowned. “ _You don’t have a portrait of her_?”

Raymond shook his head. “ _That’s not a tradition of the Untaridi, but perhaps it should become one. It must comfort you to be able to look at their faces_.”

“ _Sometimes_ ,” replied Lacerius. “ _But their picture is precious to me nonetheless_.”

“ _Then I’m glad to return it to you_ ,” said Raymond.

Lacerius was amazed that the barbarian could show such emotion for his lost betrothed. He had not expected it of a Britton. They were savages, with a considerably less advanced civilisation than that of the Romans. The idea that the man might actually understand the grief he felt for his dead wife and son was one that was foreign to him.

“ _That wasn’t the only thing that you had with you_ ,” said Raymond. “ _You were carrying a number of letters_.”

Lacerius frowned. He already knew that these barbarians couldn’t understand what was in the dispatches that he’d been carrying, but they did seem to be aware that they were letters.

“ _What of it?_ ” he asked. “ _I will not tell you their contents.”_

 _“I thought that’s what you’d say,”_ replied Raymond. “ _And I’m going to guess that they’re in code too. So even if we did know Latin, we couldn’t read them._ ”

Lacerius did not confirm or deny that. He saw no point.

Gideon entered the cave. She smiled at the sight of the crumbs of bread and empty water cup.

“ _Good, you got him to eat and drink_.”

Raymond nodded. He said something quickly to Gideon that Lacerius didn’t catch. He still had to concentrate to understand everything that was said to him in Brittonic and he suspected that they had worked that out.

“ _His head is hurting_ ,” said Raymond.

Lacerius glared at the Britton.

“ _I have something for that_ ,” said Gideon, heading towards the back of the cave.

“ _No_ ,” said Lacerius. “ _I don’t need anything from you_.”

“ _Suit yourself,”_ said Gideon, turning back to Raymond. “ _The Queen wishes to see him_.”

Lacerius straightened his back at that. He had no wish to meet Hasta. She had killed many Romans and was considered to be part evil spirit. Gideon summoned two guards, and these were not the ones who had been guarding him earlier.

“ _Mick, Leonard_ ,” said Raymond in greeting, and Lacerius immediately picked up something in the tone of his voice. He wasn’t sure if it was respect or fear, but these two men who had just entered were not to be trifled with.

“ _Raymond_ ,” replied the taller of the two, with a slight drawl to his tone. “ _Stand_ , swilla.”

Lacerius did not stand. He would not take orders from barbarian scum, so the two men pulled him to his feet. He struggled, not because he expected to be able to escape but because he would not make this easy for them. The shorter of the two men punched him in the gut and he let out strangled shout of pain.

“ _Don’t hurt him_ ,” said Gideon. “ _We are not_ swilla. _The Queen’s orders are that we treat him appropriately for his rank_.”

“ _His Legion murdered our people_ ,” said the taller of the two, with undisguised hatred.

“ _There’s no reason we can’t rough him up a little,”_ added the other, more gruffly.

“Barbarians,” spat Lacerius, crossly.

 _“What the Queen doesn’t know won’t hurt her_ ,” he continued, ignoring Lacerius.

“ _I prefer to know_ ,” said a female voice from the mouth of the cave. The voice sounded as if it was used to being obeyed.

The guards at the entrance dropped to their knees and the woman entered. Lacerius was struck by her long blonde hair and striking blue eyes, they were unusual among the Britons in this area. She wore a cream fur cloak with a mantle of white feathers around her shoulders and collar. Underneath the cloak she wore a grey robe, finely stitched and embroidered with birds. Lacerius knew that he was in the presence of the Queen. She was Discord incarnate, a pure evil that stalked these lands and killed his men. However, he noted that the four others in the cave did not bow to the Queen.

“ _We’ll have words about this later, Mick_ ,” said the woman, as she entered.

“ _Kneel before Queen Sara_ , swilla,” said the taller of his guards, pushing him to the ground.

Again, he struggled, but with his ankles tied, he had little choice but to comply, even if he did it as defiantly as possible. He would not be seen as weak in her presence.

“Hasta _, I spit on you_ , barbarian witch,” said Lacerius, falling into Latin as he realised he didn’t know the words he wanted. They still earned him a smack across his jaw, even though he doubted they’d been understood. It clearly sounded like the insult it was.

She laughed at him. “ _You’re at our mercy, Centurion Lacerius Venator. Is it really wise to insult the Queen of the people who keep you captive?”_

“ _Wise? No, but it is deserved_ ,” he replied.

“ _How so? What have I done to you, other than tend to your wound, give you shelter, food and water?_ ”

“ _You captured me on the battlefield and did not kill me_. _You have no honour_.”

“ _And you would like me to kill you now?_ ” she asked, her hand going to the hilt of the dagger that Lacerius now caught sight of in its sheath attached to her belt.

“ _Yes_ ,” he said, simply.

“ _Then I am sorry to disappoint you, but we’ve got work for you here. You are now a slave of the Untaridi. A spoil of war. You will serve us in whatever capacity we see fit._ ”

Lacerius shook his head. “ _I serve only the Emperor. I will not work as your slave. I will die first._ ”

“ _You’re very enthusiastic to die_ ,” replied the Queen.

“ _You’re_ Hasta _, “the Lance”, I fail to see your problem with killing me_ ,” replied Lacerius. “ _You’re not as impressive as I expected_.”

“ _You insult our Queen_ ,” said the taller of the guards, and he felt a knife at his throat.

He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable, silently sending a prayer to the spirits of the dead for his safe arrival in the afterlife and that he’d meet his family there.

“ _Leonard, put the knife down_ ,” said the Queen. The knife was removed, somewhat reluctantly. “ _I admit that in the past I would have killed a_ swilla _without much thought, but Raymond seems to think we should keep you alive. My advisor has a plan for you. He is intrigued that you speak our language_.”

“ _Why? Because you’re all too stupid to learn Latin_?” he said, purposefully insulting them. He felt that “Leonard” would be sure to act impulsively and end his life. Instead his other guard punched him in the gut again, doubling him over with pain.

“ _Mick! I told you, no hitting_ ,” said the Queen. “ _Raymond has decreed that we need to show him how civilised we can be_.”

“ _Raymond needs his head examining_ ,” said Leonard, with some annoyance.

“ _This will work, Sara. We just need time and to not keep him in a cave_ ,” said Raymond, giving Leonard an annoyed look.

“ _He’s staying in the cave, Ray, but_ _he’s in your charge. You and Gideon can put him to work as you see fit during the day. Len and Mick will remain as his guards,_ ” said the Queen.

“ _And remove his ropes_?” asked Raymond, hopefully.

The Queen shook her head. “ _No, although you can lengthen them. Be sensible, he is a_ swilla _and not to be trusted,_ _even if he speaks our language. Find him better clothes and stop calling him by his_ swilla _name. They choose names for their slaves, we’ll choose one for ours. Gideon told me his name means “hunter”, then that’s how we refer to him from now onwards.”_

Raymond nodded. “ _Of course_.”

“What? No!” said Lacerius. “You are not taking my name!”

The Queen ignored his outburst, which she wouldn’t have understood anyway, and appeared to assess him. “ _Give him rules, and if he breaks them, then discipline him appropriately. If he is harmed without my permission, then I will do to his attacker whatever was done to our prisoner. Make this clear to all the Untaridi, Raymond_.”

“ _Of course, and_ _thank you for giving me the chance to prove this will work_ ,” replied Raymond. The Queen gave him an approving nod.

The Queen then turned to Lacerius, making sure to meet his eyes. “ _I will call you by your_ swilla _name this one last time, Centurion Lacerius Venator, because I want you to understand that this is your responsibility. If you misbehave, if you try to escape, there will be consequences. Have I made myself clear?_ ”

“ _You have_ ,” replied Lacerius, coldly. “ _And you have made clear how weak and dishonourable your people are.”_

“ _My restraint isn’t weakness, Hunter, it is strength_ ,” said the Queen, her eyes hard and unrelenting. “ _You have no idea how much my bloodlust cries out for your death, but Raymond has asked for your life to be spared, and I owed him a favour._ ”

Lacerius glanced at the man who had apparently saved his life.

“ _I will not work for you_ ,” said Lacerius, angrily.

“ _Then you’re going to be very miserable, cold and hungry, because I have no use for someone who doesn’t pull his weight in the tribe_ ,” replied Sara. “ _I can’t spare food or water for you if you’re not working_.”

For the first time, Lacerius began to realise that perhaps there was no real way out of this situation for him. They would not kill him in the honourable manner, but they didn’t seem to want to torture him either. His head dropped and he examined the floor for a moment.

“ _However, if you work hard and do as asked then you will be well treated, Hunter_ ,” the Queen continued.

Suddenly he saw red again. He had a name and it meant something to him. “ _My name is_ Centurion Agrippa Lacerius Venator Drusanus _, First Spear of the_ XX Legio Valeria Victrix _and you will come to regret keeping me alive,_ Hasta.”

She laughed. “ _Maybe, I guess we’ll see_.”

The Queen turned and left, two of the guards following her.

“ _You’d better be worth all this trouble_ ,” said Leonard.

Lacerius let out his own rueful laugh. “ _I have no idea why you’d want to enslave me so I can’t tell you if I’m worth the trouble_.”

“ _Oh, he’s worth it_ ,” said Raymond. “ _But this is a long_ rebari _and there’s a lot at stake_. _Help me with his ropes._ ”

“ _I’ll get the_ soimeno,” said Gideon, examining the marks the ropes had left, and using a word he wasn’t familiar with. “ _We can bandage his wrists and ankles to help with the chaffing. I was hoping she’d allow us to remove the ropes completely_.”

“ _Are you soft in the head_?” asked Mick. “ _He’s a gods damned_ swilla. _He’s nothing but trouble_. _He’ll run the first chance he gets_.”

“ _The ropes are hurting him_ ,” said Gideon, as if this was a personal affront to her. “ _We’re supposed to be showing him that we’re not barbarians._ ” Gideon bustled away to the back of the cave where a number of earthenware jars were stacked.

“That will be hard, given that you _are_ barbarians,” replied Lacerius, in Latin.

Leonard kicked him in the leg. “ _In_ _Brittonic_ , swilla,” he said.

“ _Stop it, Leonard_ ,” said Ray. “ _He’s allowed to speak his own language, or did you forget that’s what the_ swilla _do to their slaves_?”

Raymond began to loosen the ropes that were tied around his neck, wrists and ankles. He uncovered, abraded, bloodied skin underneath, and Lacerius couldn’t help but wince as they were removed. He breathed in sharply, failing to hide that this hurt him.

“ _Sorry_ ,” said Raymond, and again Lacerius frowned because it made no sense to apologise to a slave.

“ _Then maybe he should have a taste of his own_ belenion,” replied Leonard.

The ropes hadn’t been so tight that they’d cut off his circulation, but he had been kept in quite an uncomfortable position for a while and his muscles ached at their new freedom. He stretched a little, being careful to move slowly and not alarm his captors. He was now considering that perhaps escape would be possible. If they were planning to loosen his bonds then it might just be a matter of waiting for the right moment.

Gideon returned with some kind of ointment that smelt quite foul and was kept in a pot. She dipped her fingers in it and then approached him with the clear intention of putting it on his skin. He shuffled backwards. Whatever she wanted to do with it, it didn’t seem at all sanitary, and he was extremely suspicious of her methods. She was definitely a witch of some kind.

“ _No_ ,” he said.

“ _This will help numb the pain and keep the wounds clean_ ,” she replied. “ _I made it myself. It’s just herbs._ ”

That made him even more concerned and determined that she wasn’t going to put it anywhere near him.

“ _Stay away from me_ ,” he said. He did not trust the druid.

His hands and ankles were now free so he scrambled away from his captors, but he didn’t get very far as Mick and Leonard grabbed him by the upper arms and pushed him down to his knees again.

“ _Hold him down_ ,” said Gideon. “ _Sorry, Hunter, but this really will help_.”

Mick, Leonard and Raymond pinned him on his back to the floor as he fought with everything he had, but three men were definitely more than he could expect to overcome. He swore at them in Latin, mainly because it made him feel slightly better. He felt Gideon grab a wrist, clean it with water and apply the horrible salve, followed by covering it with a cloth wrapping. The salve stung as it was applied but it did seem to numb the pain after a few moments. She did the same to the other wrist and his neck. By the time she’d reached his ankles, he’d given up his struggling as he had no energy left.

He was surprised to hear her murmuring soothing words that he couldn’t quite catch as she tended to the wounds, and suddenly he remembered something. He remembered a woman saying something to him in Brittonic in a similar cadence, hugging him, and then the smell of burning. The memory faded as quickly as it had come. He frowned, trying to reclaim it, but it was ephemeral and like a dream, gone as Gideon’s words ceased. They stopped holding him down and for a moment he was dazed and could only stare up at the ceiling. It took him a minute before he could push himself back slowly to a sitting position.

“ _Are you okay_?” asked Raymond.

Lacerius just looked at him, still trying to recall the moment he’d lost.

“ _I promise you, it really is just something to stop the wounds getting infected_ ,” said Gideon, misinterpreting his vacant stare.

“ _They do feel better_ ,” he admitted.

He was rewarded with a smile from Gideon. “ _Good. I don’t want my patients to suffer unnecessarily_. _Perhaps you will accept some_ belenion _for your headache now_?”

He frowned. “ _I don’t understand_.”

“ _Make it up, Gideon_ ,” said Raymond.

He watched as Gideon went to the back of the cave again and took out another jar, this one containing powder and carefully measured out a scoop of the greyish powder into a cup of water. She stirred it well and brought it back, handing it to Raymond.

“ _It’s quite bitter_ ,” warned Gideon, “ _but it does dull pain_.”

“ _So, we still have some way to go on trust_ ,” said Raymond. “ _And this actually does taste like poison, which I’m guessing isn’t going to help, but if I have to prove to you that it’s okay to drink it then I will.”_

Raymond took a sip from the cup with grimace. “ _Urgh. I’d suggest downing it swiftly_.”

“ _Really?_ ” asked Leonard. “ _You’ve gone soft, Raymond_.”

“ _Quiet, Leonard_ ,” said Raymond. “ _Trust has to be earned_.”

“ _What is it_?” Lacerius asked Gideon.

“ _It’s a mix of dried willow leaf and poppy seeds, ground into powder and mixed in water_ ,” said Gideon, with a slight shrug.

Lacerius had to admit that from the little he knew of medicine, that didn’t sound too ridiculous. He reached out for the cup and Raymond handed it to him. Again, he sniffed it and this time he could smell something akin to tree sap. It was medicinal in odour and not entirely pleasant. However, Raymond was showing no sign of ill effects. He did as suggested, and drained the cup of water in one, grimacing at the chalky, bitter taste.

Gideon smiled at him. “ _Well done. It will be a little while before it starts working, but hopefully that will sort out your headache_.”

“ _The Queen ordered new clothes for the prisoner_ ,” said a new person entering the cave, one Lacerius hadn’t met yet. He was young and had the dark skin of someone from the South of the Empire, which was unusual in the tribes of the Britons. It suggested some Roman ancestry or at least that his family had accompanied the Romans to this place.

“ _Thanks, Jax_ ,” said Raymond. He offered the clothes to Lacerius. “ _You need to take off your uniform and put these on._ ”

Lacerius shook his head, and stiffened with pride. “ _I am a soldier of Rome, I will wear my uniform_.”

He proudly wore the red tunic with the imperial eagle stencilled in black on his chest, and the red cloak that was the uniform of the Roman army. They had already taken his symbols of rank and his sword, these were the last possessions that he had that made him a Roman.

Leonard stepped forwards, clearly about to strip him forcibly. “ _You are a_ swilla, _and you will do as you’re told._ ”

Raymond put a hand on his arm to stop him and Leonard gave him an annoyed look. Raymond turned back to Lacerius, as Mick rolled his eyes, exchanging a look with Leonard.

“ _I don’t want to dishonour you further, but you know you can’t continue to wear your uniform whilst you’re our prisoner. Please, put these on_.” Raymond once again held out the clothes towards him.

“ _You’re trying to reason with a_ swilla? _Good luck_ ,” said Mick.

“ _You’re saying “please” to a_ swilla,” said Leonard, with quiet menace, and as if Raymond was an idiot for doing such a thing.

Lacerius glanced sharply at Leonard. “ _At least he is politely asking for my honour_.”

The tall guardsman seemed surprised by that reply, if the raised eyebrows were anything to go by. Again, Lacerius was made very aware of his position. He could resist this, but it wouldn’t really gain him anything and he just didn’t have the energy to fight them again at this point.

He reached up and undid his cloak, dropping it to the ground, then he removed his belt, placing it carefully beside the cloak at his feet. He looked away from his audience, feeling his humiliation burn on his skin. He held out his hand for the clothes and Raymond handed them to him. He removed his red tunic, dropping it on top of the cloak, and replaced it with the grey one of a slightly different cut.

“ _Wait_ ,” said Gideon, as he was pulling the tunic over his head. He paused in his redressing, looking back over his shoulder at the druid. “ _What is this mark?_ ” she asked, approaching him and seeming to examine his shoulder.

Lacerius shrugged. “ _I’ve always had it_.”

He knew what she was referring to. He had a strangely shaped scar on his left shoulder. Maria, the slave from Drusus’ household who had raised him, had said it looked a little like a crude drawing of a deer. It was a source of amusement mainly, because the deer was sacred to Diana and Lacerius proved himself early on to be a very accomplished hunter with a bow. Maria often referred to him as being blessed by Diana, something which also later led his father to choose his cognomen.

Gideon was giving him a very strange look, and he wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong or even if that was what the look meant.

“ _Do you mind if I finish getting dressed now_?” he asked, with annoyance. It was bad enough that they were taking his uniform, he had no wish to stand around semi-naked to add insult to injury.

“ _No, go ahead_ ,” replied Gideon, backing away again.

He shrugged the tunic over his shoulders, put his uniform belt around his middle again, and nothing was said about him not keeping it. Then he added the Brittonian-style brown cloak over the top. He picked up his Roman tunic and cloak, touching the imperial eagle one last time and handed them back to Raymond.

Raymond turned to Jax. “ _See that these are burnt_.”

There was an unexpected twinge of pain in Lacerius’ chest at the words. The younger man gave a dip of his head and took them away. Lacerius looked down at himself, no longer seeing a Roman. He sighed and turned back towards his captors with resignation, holding out his wrists for them to be bound once more.

Raymond and Gideon fastened new ropes around his wrists and ankles, but didn’t replace the rope around his neck, instead fitting him with a leather collar with the symbol of the Untaridi, a wave, burnt into it. Gideon stitched the collar in place. It would have to be cut off if it was ever to be removed, and it marked him as a slave of the tribe if he tried to run away. By this point he had ceased to count the indignities, and was simply storing them away for when he escaped and could come back and burn the place to the ground.

The ropes had more slack than before, so now he could potentially stand and walk, although he doubted he’d be able to run. At least they now rubbed against bandages rather than his skin.

“ _Come on, we’ll show you Venta Untaridi and then I’ll take you to where you’ll be working for the moment,_ ” said Raymond.

“ _I will join you later, but it may not be until the Queen’s court this evening_ ,” said Gideon. “ _I must perform the daily rites_.”

“ _Okay_ ,” said Raymond. “ _We’ll probably be at the forge or my house if you need to find us before then_.”

Leonard, blade drawn, prodded Lacerius to move forwards. He decided that being outside was better than being in the dark and strange smelling cave, so he moved slowly forwards, testing how far the rope would allow his feet to move as he went. He stumbled into bright light that hurt his eyes, blinking, and it took him a moment for his eyes to adjust to the sun. He held up a hand to shield his face and looked around.

He was at the edge of a Britonian hill fort town. It looked to be fairly typical of its type with earth works and a wooden wall surrounding it. Raymond walked him along one of several gravel-covered tracks and through the gaps between the houses. It was a large settlement, composed of wooden walled houses with thatched roofs. Smoke rose from cooking fires in all directions, and he could see animals being taken down a road towards a gate. Hundreds of people lived in this fort and they probably farmed the fields nearby.

Occasionally one of the Britons would stop and look at him. Some of them spat in his direction, but he refused to be cowed by their hatred. He may be a prisoner, a slave, but he was still a Roman and he would act as such. This land had been conquered by Rome and, by rights, all of these people were Roman vassals. Raymond was also clearly annoyed by the reaction of his fellow townspeople and told them to stop on several occasions. They moved on through the buildings.

One of the buildings appeared to be built more of stone than wood and it was this one that they entered.

“ _Martin_ ,” said Raymond, as he walked through the open door. “ _I’ve brought our guest to meet you_.”

An older man looked up from where he appeared to be supervising, Jax, the young man who had brought Lacerius the clothes earlier. Jax was working a blade in a furnace, meaning that this must be the blacksmith’s.

“ _Ah, good_ ,” said Martin. “ _I have questions about your sword_.”

He moved to a table and picked up the unmistakeably Roman sword that lay there.

“ _Even for a Roman blade it is quite fine_ ,” said Martin. “ _Where did it come from_?”

“ _It was a gift from my adoptive father_ ,” said Lacerius.

“ _And where did he purchase it_?”

“ _I have no idea_.” It was a lie, but there was no way that his captors would know that. Nor would they expect him to have been present when the blade was forged.

“ _It has the feel of an Eastern alloy to it,” said Martin. “I’m sure once we’ve tested it, we’ll know more_.”

“ _Tested it_?” asked Lacerius.

“ _Yes, I should be able to find out the exact composition of_ isano _to_ kalditid _and if there are any other metals employed_ ,” said Martin.

Lacerius assumed that would mean destroying it, and again he felt a pang of sadness. The sword was the envy of many other Centurions and had been his for nearly a decade. These people really were barbarians to want to damage such a blade.

“ _You could help me by telling me what it’s made of_?” asked Martin, hopefully.

Lacerius shook his head. He would not help them, even if he had known the words to explain in Brittonic.

“ _The man asked you to tell him what it’s made of_ ,” said Leonard, and Lacerius felt a knife poke into his back as encouragement.

“ _I will not give away the secrets of my people_ ,” said Lacerius, flatly. He suspected that he would now be tortured to do exactly that.

Raymond held up a hand though. “ _That’s okay, Martin will have more fun working it out on his own anyway. Leonard, put the blade away_.”

Leonard grumbled behind him and Jax said something he didn’t understand to the group, which made Leonard smile and Mick laugh. Raymond didn’t seem quite as amused.

“ _Roman swords are shorter than ours_ ,” continued Martin. “ _Which suits the Roman style of combat, of course. Perhaps we could discuss tactics at some point?_ ”

“ _No_ ,” said Lacerius. “ _We can’t_.”

“ _What’s the point of bringing him here if he’d not going to help us_?” asked Jax.

“ _He’s going to be working with me, and I spend a lot of my time here_ ,” said Ray. “ _He needs to get to know you all._ ”

This was news to Lacerius, but not exactly unexpected.

“ _So, what do we call him_?” asked Martin.

“ _Hunter_ ,” replied Raymond. “ _Sara picked it_.”

“ _It isn’t my name_ ,” said Lacerius, crossly.

“ _No, but it’s what we’re calling you_ ,” said Leonard, “ _now shut up before I decide to ignore the Queen’s orders and cut you_.”

Lacerius thought that he caught Raymond rolling his eyes at that, but nothing was said.

“ _I would guess that this is your name_?” asked Martin, pointing to the inscription etched into the sword.

Lacerius nodded. On the other side was a prayer to Diana, entreating her to keep him safe in battle. Most soldiers would pray to Mars, but Lacerius had always had an affinity to Diana, goddess of hunting, because of his name. That was not to say that he never prayed to Mars, because all soldiers needed the blessing of the god of war.

“ _Alas, I cannot read Latin._ _It is very fine workmanship_ ,” said Martin, feeling the balance of the blade. Lacerius hadn’t really thought much about the fact that Latin was written in an entirely different alphabet to Brittonic, but it seemed obvious that would be the case now.

To be honest, all Lacerius wanted to do was grab the sword and use it to cut his way out of here. It was so close that he could almost do it too, but for the knife at his back and the guard at his side.

“ _Come on_ ,” said Raymond. “ _I’ve got work for you to do_.”

They walked further into the town and to one of the larger houses. Raymond ushered him inside, with Leonard tagging along, while Mick waited outside. Inside, a fire was set ready to be started in the central hearth. There were bizarre looking contraptions all around the room, many looked like works in progress and he had no idea what any of them might be used for.

“ _Sorry about the mess_ ,” said Raymond. “ _Basically, you’ll cook, clean and assist me with my work, unless Gideon has something for you to do._ ”

“ _I don’t know how to do any of those things_ ,” said Lacerius. “ _I’m a soldier_.”

“ _That’s sort of the point. I’m going to teach you, and hopefully you’re going to teach me_ ,” said Raymond.

Lacerius let out a bitter laugh. “ _I’ve already told you that I won’t tell you anything_. _Turning me into your house slave will not make me anymore likely to give up information_.”

“ _I’m not expecting you to give up military secrets of anything like that, but I thought maybe you could teach me Latin_?”

“ _You want to learn Latin? I thought you hated the_ Romani,” he said. “ _You call me “_ swilla _”, which I gather is some kind of insect, so not exactly complimentary_.”

“ _Well, there are worse things we could call you_ ,” drawled Leonard, who was playing with something that looked like a wheel with pots attached to the edge.

Raymond shook his head for a moment, and then spoke. “ _It is an insect, and I admit that it isn’t complimentary. It’s the kind of insect with a hard shell. It’s because of your armour. When the Romans first came it was said you looked like_ swilla _with your hard shells and shields_.”

“Oh, scarabaeus, er, dwoilo, _beetle_?” Lacerius picked another word that he thought meant the same thing.

“ _Yes_!” said Raymond. “ _Beetle._ Swilla _.”_

“ _I don’t think I’ve heard that word for it before_ ,” he said.

“ _Get the fire going_ , swilla,” said Raymond, with amusement, “ _and then maybe we can discuss issues of language and get warm_.”

“ _You’re definitely getting soft, Ray_ ,” said Leonard, still playing with the wheel.

“ _We all know that you don’t feel the cold_ ,” said Ray, going to a table and retrieving a pile of sheets of what looked like papyrus, but seemed stiffer.

Lacerius moved towards the hearth and knelt down. This was actually something that he did know how to do, and he _was_ cold. There was a flint and steel placed to one side of the fireplace, and Lacerius struck sparks into the wood, blowing on it to get it going. It took some time, and Raymond had finished collecting his things by the time he had it burning well. The Briton sat down on a cloth rug, next to Lacerius. He handed him a slate and piece of chalk.

“ _I need you to write out the Latin alphabet for me. Do you know how to read Ogham_?”

“ _No. I’ve never written Brittonic, only spoken it_ ,” said Lacerius, although as he said the words he had a very vague memory of scratching out lines on a slate. He shook it off as unimportant. Maria had taught him how to read and write, and it had been Latin that she’d taught him.

“ _Okay, well, I can teach you our alphabet in return_ ,” replied Raymond _. “So, are you going to tell me how you come to speak Brittonic_?”

Lacerius looked away. “ _I don’t really know. I’ve spoken Latin all my life, and I certainly didn’t learn Greek terribly well. But when I was in Gaul, I learnt a little Gallic. I could pick up enough to hold conversations in and when I came to Britain, I learnt your language quickly, just by talking to the local people who traded with the fort, and without really trying. It was almost like I was remembering some parts of it. I still don’t understand everything you say… but I’m picking up more words as I go_.”

He paused for a moment, poking the fire with a stick to redistribute the embers.

“ _It isn’t seemly for a Roman to speak a barbarian language, but my commanding officer found it useful. However, if my father were to ever find out, well, I doubt he’d be very pleased with me. Then again, being captured and enslaved is a far worse dishonour that knowing all the good Brittonic swear words_.”

Raymond nodded. “ _Yes, you don’t hear too many Roman soldiers saying “bollocks” in Brittonic_.”

“ _My men thought it was amusing_ ,” said Lacerius, hanging his head. “ _I expect they think I’m dead now_.”

“ _Your men are responsible for killing countless of ours_ ,” said Leonard, sharply, and suddenly angry again. “ _If I’d had my way then you’d already be dead. Instead you’re getting ready for a cosy fireside chat. What would Anna say, Raymond?_ ”

“ _She’d understand_ ,” said Raymond, sadly. “ _This has to end somewhere_.”

“ _Who’s Anna_?” asked Lacerius.

“ _My betrothed_ ,” replied Raymond. “ _She was killed in Venta Trosdi when the Romans tried to take the town_.”

“ _I grieve with you_ ,” said Lacerius, and found that he truly meant the sentiment.

“ _I know_ ,” said Raymond.

“ _How touching_ ,” sneered Leonard. “ _I bet you were there. For all we know, you killed her_.”

“ _I don’t kill women and children, and neither did my men_ ,” Lacerius replied angrily. “ _And I wasn’t at Venta Trosdi._ ”

“ _The fact remains that you’re a Roman and Romans kill Britons_.” Leonard was looking at him with undisguised hatred.

“ _And now I’m your slave, so that must make you very happy_ ,” said Lacerius.

“ _When you try to escape and I get to flog you, then I’ll be happy_ ,” replied Leonard. “ _Because I know you’re going to try it._ ”

Lacerius stared at Leonard with equal ire, but sad nothing.

“ _The Untaridi don’t usually keep slaves, but Queen Sara made an exception in your case_ ,” said Raymond.

“ _It would have been better if you had killed me_ ,” said Lacerius. “ _Why would you do this to me_?”

“ _Ah, Raymond’s great plan_ ,” said Leonard, with bitter amusement.

Raymond gave Leonard a look, and not one that suggested he was happy. He sighed.

“ _We need to survive, Leonard, and to do that we need to start taking a different attitude to our enemy,”_ said Raymond. “ _Hatred breeds hatred_.”

Lacerius frowned. “ _That it does_.”

Again, he was surprised by the attitude and words of this man. He kept doing and saying things that were shaking Lacerius’ idea of what a Briton should be like. He had expected them all to be like Mick and Leonard, men who were hard and violent.

“ _How is your head?_ ” asked Raymond.

Lacerius frowned as he realised that his head did feel better. “ _Less painful, er, thank you_ ,” he said.

“ _So, write me your alphabet and you can begin teaching me Latin with something simple_ ,” said Raymond.

Lacerius took a deep breath. He could not escape at the moment and he needed time to get the lie of the land. At least teaching Raymond Latin would pass the time and it was something which wasn’t against any laws. In fact, teaching the local people Latin was positively encouraged because it helped to civilise them and made trade easier.

He picked up the chalk and began to write out the alphabet. Then he wrote “salve”, the Latin for “ _hello_ ”.

Raymond was smart and a quick study. In a few hours he’d learnt the alphabet, and soon Lacerius had him writing basic Latin words and saying them. They stopped to eat briefly, but mostly spent the day switching between Brittonic and Latin.

“Hello, my name is Raymond,” he said, proudly.

“Pleased to meet you, Raymond,” replied Lacerius. “How are you?”

“I am well. How are you?” asked Raymond, trying to get the same emphasis and accent that Lacerius had.

“I am well, thank you.”

Raymond smiled. “ _How did I do_?”

“ _You didn’t say_ “thank you” _but other than that, pretty well. You’ll be speaking fluently in no time,”_ said Lacerius.

“ _This is all very quaint, but I fail to see how it gets us any closer to the Romans leaving us alone_ ,” said Leonard, who had moved over to sit by the fire at some point. Lacerius had noted on a couple of occasions that Leonard was paying just as much attention to his language lesson as Raymond had been.

“ _Trust me, Leonard, this is important_ ,” said Raymond. “ _Unfortunately, I can’t spend all my time learning Latin, so we’ll have to confine lessons to the evenings. I need to attend court and see Sara. You can take Hunter back to the cave for the night, and hand over to the other guards_.”

Leonard smiled. “ _Finally, you’re making sense_.”

“ _Gideon has work for you tomorrow, but Leonard and Mick will take you where you need to go_ ,” said Raymond and left Lacerius with Leonard.

Leonard grabbed him by an arm and propelled him out of the hut and down the path back towards the cave. Dusk was just falling, making the way more difficult to pick out, but the townspeople were lighting torches along the paths. Mick joined them as they stepped outside, once again making it almost impossible for him to countenance an escape. If the guards had been other members of the tribe then he might have considered it, but this pair were something else. They held themselves differently and the tribe revered them. These men were dangerous.

He did his best to walk slowly and be as difficult as possible. Mick took this as an invitation to shove him along, but he could deal with that.

“ _Stop being a pain in the ass_ ,” said Leonard, as he propelled him into the mouth of the cave.

“ _I am not going to make this easy for you_ ,” replied Lacerius. “ _You’re a tribe of barbarians. It’s only a matter of time before my army decides to wipe your tribe from the face of the earth._ ”

“ _You must be very proud of your Empire and how many of our towns you’ve burnt down,_ ” said Leonard.

“ _I am actually_ ,” said Lacerius, and that earned him a kick to the shin. “Barbarian asshole,” he murmured, as he stumbled to the side. Leonard grabbed him again, and pulled him to his feet.

“ _You’re lucky I don’t slit your throat, beetle_ ,” replied Leonard.

“You’re lucky my men haven’t razed your pathetic town to the ground,” replied Lacerius, gleefully using the language his captor couldn’t understand.

“ _Speak properly_!” shouted Leonard, and punched Lacerius across the face. “ _Do you have any idea what the punishment is for a slave disobeying his master in Britonian law_?”

“ _I thought the Untaridi didn’t keep slaves_ ,” said Lacerius.

“ _The Untaridi may not keep slaves, but other tribes certainly do. The Trindovari publicly flog their slaves, the Belgae chain them to a pole in the middle of the town and lets everyone beat them, others cut off their fingers for every order disobeyed, some bury them in a hole in the ground until they’re half dead from lack of food and water_.” Leonard seemed to be enjoying telling him this, but Lacerius wasn’t going to show weakness. He knew that this man was dangerous, and he wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating him.

“ _What did my compatriots do to you for you to hate me so_?” he asked, hit by a desire to know why he was the butt of some much ire.

“ _Apart from sacking our towns and enslaving our people?_ ” said Leonard, his steel grey eyes flashing with anger. “ _That isn’t enough for me to hate you and all your kind_?”

“ _I’m sure it is, but this feels more personal_ ,” said Lacerius.

Leonard turned away from him. “ _That’s because it is_.” Then the Briton turned around, and marched out of the cave, leaving him in the care of the other guards. There was becoming something comforting about the stone walls and the medicinal smell of the cave.

***AD 59***

Lacerius looked at the battlefield. Everyone in front of him was either dead, dying, or checking which it was to turn the latter into the former. The Romans had won, but this wasn’t the victory that he needed to heal the wound in his heart. These weren’t the ones who had killed Jonas and Miranda, but they were getting closer. Lacerius was tired. He’d led his men into battle, as he always did, and received his fair share of cuts and bruises. It wasn’t anything serious, but he should probably report to the Legion’s _medicus_ to be properly bandaged. It could wait.

“Centurion!” shouted one of his men. “Your prisoner, the Chief of the Nervii, has returned to consciousness.”

“Thank you, Legionary Decimus,” he said. “How far away is their settlement?”

“Not far, Centurion,” said the Legionary. “We estimate two miles to the West.”

“Send one of the prisoners ahead as a messenger to them. Ask for their surrender. Standard vassal state terms. If they won’t… burn it and take whoever survives as slaves. They fought less than honourably, I expect many of them fled back to their homes, we should be prepared for another fight,” said Lacerius.

“Ave, Centurion,” replied the Legionary, and dashed off just as Optio Gavus shoved his prisoner into view. Two of his Legionaries threw the man to the ground at Lacerius’ feet.

“Ah, Chief Valorix,” said Lacerius. “ _My Gallic is poor, so I’ll make this brief. My name is Centurion Lacerius Venator, First Spear of the 20 th Legion of Imperial Rome. You attacked us during a truce. Why?_”

The blond-haired, scruffily bearded Gaul, pushed himself to his knees. His face was bruised and his arms showed evidence of the fight that he’d been in. He looked about as bad as Lacerius himself did.

Valorix laughed. “ _Why not? You’re Romans. You can’t blame me for trying to get the upper hand._ ”

“ _We would have offered you the opportunity to become a vassal state to Rome if you’d simply surrendered. Instead you are now my prisoner and will be sent to Rome to star in General Spinosus’ Triumph parade. I’m not in the mood to penalise your people because you’re a bad leader, but I really hope that they’re not as stupid as you,_ ” said Lacerius.

Valorix spat at Lacerius, and immediately his Optio was grabbing him by his hair. “Barbarian scum.”

Lacerius was unbothered. He was quite used to the locals failing to understand that the Romans were actually helping them by civilising their primitive cultures.

“ _I expected more of the great Centurion Lacerius Venator. I’ve heard of you and all the peoples that you’ve murdered for your masters_ ,” said Valorix.

“ _I serve Rome with honour, which is more than I can say about you and your men_ ,” said Lacerius, his voice raised and tense.

“ _You come into our country, kill our people, and expect us to pay tribute. You’re invaders. I piss on you all. I curse you all. I hope your families die and crops whither_ ,” shouted Valorix.

“Yes, well I think someone else got there first with that particular curse,” said Lacerius, switching back to Latin. “Take him away and put him with the other prisoners to be taken to Rome.”

The Legionaries dragged the Chief away, still spitting curses and obscenities at the Romans. Lacerius considered himself to have done a favour to Valorix’s people. He had been a thoroughly objectionable opponent and a very bad leader. His people would prosper far better under Roman rule.

“Have we had word from General Spinosus?” asked Lacerius, glancing at his Optio.

Gavus replied. “Yes, sir. He has reached the fort. He expects to march out to engage the Vandals at first light. The barbarians are massing troops in the valley to the North. Reports indicate that we will outnumber them two to one.”

“Right, let’s get finished up here then and move on to the real challenge.”

His men were well trained and they were already treating the wounded as best they could, whilst regrouping to march on the settlement, if it was required. Lacerius suspected that after their rather efficient display of force, the cowards would simply give in. He really hoped that was the case, because he found himself with little taste for burning another Gallic settlement. It was beginning to weigh heavily upon him how much unnecessary blood had been shed by Valorix’s refusal to surrender peaceably in the face of overwhelming odds.

However, it was good news that Spinosus had reached the fort. It looked like he might finally get his revenge for the death of his wife and son. He prayed daily to the gods and the spirits of the dead to care for them in the afterlife, and he promised them the head of the Chief of the Vandals who had murdered them. He had looked forwards to this day for many months, lived for it even, and perhaps once he took his revenge, he would be able to move on with his life. Perhaps. If he wanted it enough.

A fast horse rode into their makeshift camp. The rider called out, clearly a messenger from the main part of the Legion. He currently only had two centuries with him and the others were with General Spinosus.

“Centurion!” said the messenger. “The Consul Drusus requests your presence at the fort.”

Lacerius frowned. He hadn’t even been aware that his father was in the theatre of battle. The messenger handed him a rolled-up piece of parchment that bore the seal of his father’s house. Lacerius broke the seal and noted the paper included the same information that he’d just been given, an order not to kill the Chief of the Vandals if he engaged him, and his authorisation to leave his men to return to the fort. Well, this was going to be interesting.

“My presence is required at the fort. Centurion Gaius is in charge until I return,” said Lacerius. “Bring me a horse.”

He took the horse that was readied for him, and rode back to camp, the largest fort in the area. It wasn’t a long ride, a couple of hours at most, and his men would be returning here before they set out for battle. He made good time, pushing the horse because he wanted answers. He rode into camp at a gallop, surprising a sentry, and handed his horse over to the stables as rapidly as possible. Then he stormed towards the Consul’s quarters, stopping only long enough to observe the proper protocol when being announced and remove his helmet.

The Consul’s quarters had beautiful handwoven carpets across the floor and tapestries on the walls. It was very clear from the décor alone that his father was an important man. Drusus sat behind an ornately carved wooden desk, bedecked with images of the sun and moon, and sundials and hourglasses wound around the legs. His father’s obsession with time passing had led to his cognomen: “Temporis” - “of time”.

“Centurion Lacerius Venator,” greeted his father, as he entered the Consul’s quarters.

So, he was not to be Agrippa, the son, today. He was to be a Centurion in the Imperial army and act accordingly. At least he knew where he stood, as he looked around the room and found General Eobardus Spinosus Celeritas also present, which partly explained the formality.

“Consul Drusus, General Spinosus,” said Lacerius. “I have to ask why I have been summoned. I was about to finalise the conquest of the last settlement of the Nervii.”

“We need to talk, Venator,” said Spinosus, his blue eyes flashing with annoyance, probably at the attitude that one of his Centurions had just displayed. He unbuckled his armour as he spoke, so he could only be recently arrived from the road. Which made him wonder if Drusus had been here for some time, since he was wearing his toga and looked well rested.

“I know that you’ve been waiting for this day,” said his father, “but the Senate has decreed that Chief Savage of the Vandals is to be taken alive at all costs.”

“I don’t understand,” said Lacerius, “I was granted the right to seek justice for the murders of my wife and child. The only way that can happen is for me to avenge their deaths. I re-joined the Legion on the understanding that I would be allowed to face Savage in combat at the very least.”

“The Senate have made their wishes known,” said Drusus. “The Legions are simply here to carry out its wishes.”

“I fail to see how you can let that tyrant live!” Lacerius’ gestured emphatically. “He has killed Roman citizens and will continue to do untold damage simply with his existence. Even once his tribe is conquered, he will persist in emboldening other barbarians if we don’t make an example out of him. Isn’t this what we’ve been sent to protect? Aren’t we the guardians of civilisation itself?”

“We are, and he will be made an example of,” said Drusus.

“Temporis,” said Lacerius, leaning on his father’s desk and meeting his eyes. He used his cognomen, as he most often did when addressing his adoptive father, in the hopes that it would remind them of their familial bond. “Please, you cannot deny me this.”

“I cannot go against the Senate, Agrippa,” replied his father.

Lacerius straightened, pulling himself up to his full height. “I see. Then we have nothing more to discuss.”

He turned to go, only for General Spinosus to put out a hand to stop him.

“You’ll understand that you must remain in the camp until tomorrow’s battle, Venator. I assume that won’t be a problem?” The blond Roman fixed him with a steely look, which made it clear that he expected his subordinate to comply without question.

“Of course not, General Spinosus. I am a soldier of Rome, I will follow the orders that I’m given.”

“See that you do, Centurion Venator. We will move out at first light,” said the General.

Lacerius nodded in acknowledgement. He saluted and left the Consul’s quarters. He walked the length of the fort and then screamed at the wooded walls, kicking out in his rage. However, he was not one to be defeated by a mere order. If he was fast enough and clever enough, he could still beat the army to the Vandal’s territory. It would be dangerous and probably result in a flogging at the end of it, or if he was extremely lucky, a large fine and demotion, but he would have his revenge and justice for his wife and son.

To hell with it, he was going to kill Chief Savage of the Vandals and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Nervii were a tribe of Gauls that occupied what is mostly now France, around the period that this story is set. It was quite usual for the Romans to offer the people that they conquered the option of becoming a vassal state of Rome. The alternative was that they would burnt their town to the ground, kill anyone who fought them and enslave the rest. It wasn't much of a choice, obviously, but it did benefit Rome, because vassal states provided tribute (basically taxes). 
> 
> However, it was also entirely likely that some members of a conquered state would still be enslaved as part of the tribute whether they refused the offer or not. Slavery was not regarded as morally wrong, and certainly Rip doesn't see it as such at this point in the story. He's been brought up in a culture where slaves are the norm, just as sending a prisoner to Rome to take part in a humiliating parade of their defeat (a Triumph) is the norm.
> 
> Triumphs were granted after great military battles to Generals. They were huge affairs and greatly sought after. In this case, their victory over the Nervii wouldn't be enough to award a Triumph to Thawne, but his victory over the Vandals probably will be. The Chiefs of the conquered tribes made excellent spectacles for the crowds to jeer at. A Triumph could well end with their public execution, much to the crowd's delight.


	3. Metus ac Terror sunt Infirma Vincla Caritatis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is later than planned, so apologies for that.
> 
> I mess around with the timing of events in this chapter.
> 
> Caer Ludein (which became Londinium) was sacked by Rome in 43AD, in this story it happens around 31AD. The reason for that will become clear later.
> 
> This chapter also features Chief Savage of the Vandals, who, as previously mentioned, weren't actually anywhere near Rome at this point.
> 
> Italics are when people are speaking a language which is foreign to the POV character. In this case, Brettonic.

“metus ac terror sunt infirma vincla caritatis, quae ubi removeris, quitimere desierint, odisse incipient.”

“Fear and terror are weak bonds of attachment, once break them and where fear ends, hatred will begin.” – Tacitus, The Agricola, bk 32

***AD 61***

Raymond found the Queen in her Roundhouse at the centre of the village. She was enjoying an evening cup of wine with Gideon, and waiting for her other advisors to arrive for their usual evening conference. They sat at the large, carved, wooden, round table. It was a family heirloom, passed down from King to Queen for generations.

“Is our Roman guest tucked up in the cave again?” she asked, pouring another cup of wine for Raymond. Raymond had known other tribal chiefs in his time and very few of them poured wine for their advisors. Most of them had servants for that, but Sara had always been unusual. She’d never really expected to become their Queen, as the younger sister of their former Chief, it should have been Laurel that was their leader, but things often didn’t go according to plan during a war.

“Leonard and Mick are escorting him there now,” said Raymond. “His Brittonic is unexpectedly good and getting better. It’s actually sort of… weird.”

“Yes, there are several things which are quite strange,” said Gideon.

“Okay,” said Sara. “Let’s start from the beginning. What’s weird about him getting better at understanding and speaking our language?”

“Obviously, there aren’t many Romans who bother to learn our language. He said it’s regarded as beneath them. He started out tentatively and he definitely didn’t understand everything that we said, I mean he still doesn’t, but he’s more fluent the longer he’s spending speaking it,” said Raymond. “That isn’t usually how learning a language works – at least not this quickly. He actually said it himself, it’s more like he’s remembering the language, but he also said that he learnt it from speaking to Britons trading with the Roman fort.”

“That sounds reasonable,” said Sara.

Gideon took a breath and shook her head. “But it doesn’t tally with how he speaks. I wouldn’t expect anyone but me to pick this up, because he’s still searching for words. But the way he puts sentences together and says certain words… he has a Catuvellauni accent. As far as I know, there are no Catuvellauni left in any Roman occupied areas, well, apart from me. If he’d really learnt this from traders with the fort, I would expect him to have speech patterns closer to yours and Raymond’s.”

Gideon looked between Raymond and Sara. “And then there is the matter of the mark on his shoulder.”

“What mark?” asked Sara.

“It’s on his left shoulder blade. He said that he’s always had it, which is probably right to some extent,” said Gideon. “It’s clearly quite an old scar, I would guess it was from a bad burn, it almost looks like a brand. It appears to be a depiction of a deer, possibly a stag.”

“And you think that’s significant?” asked Sara.

Gideon nodded. “A stag was the symbol of the Catuvellauni. I have very few things left from my childhood, but I have some coins that carry the stag on their obverse. I wear one around my neck in memory of my family.”

She pulled out the leather thong from underneath her robe to show the coin with the hole in the top that was attached to the string. Raymond’s eyes widened slightly at the stag on the coin. This was unexpected, and the design did seem to match the scar rather well.

Sara frowned. “What are you saying, Gideon?”

“I am unsure. It might be nothing, a coincidence,” said Gideon.

“Or it could be something,” said Sara. She got a faraway look in her eyes, puzzled and wondering. “Who did you bring here, Raymond?”

Raymond shrugged, equally perplexed. “I don’t know. All I knew was that he was a Centurion who swore in Brittonic.”

“How did he swear?” asked Gideon.

“He said “bollocks”,” said Raymond. “It’s a little old fashioned I suppose…”

Gideon let out a long breath. “Not if you’re Catuvellauni. I realise that you have never heard me swear, because that would be inappropriate for a druid, but if I were to, that would be one of the words that I would use.”

“Where did he learn Catuvellauni swear words?” asked Sara. “I mean, you said it, Gideon. The Romans sacked their capital, Caer Ludein, years ago and drove them out of the area. Caer Ludein is called Londinium now. It’s a Roman town and has been for years.”

“I am aware of that,” said Gideon. “If I had not been taken to Ynys Mon to become a druid, I would have been at Caer Ludein when the Romans sacked it.”

“I’m sorry, Gideon, I know you lost your family,” said Sara.

“I’m not the only one who lost their family to a Roman attack, and I’m lucky that you took me in as your druid. We have all lost people to this war,” said Gideon.

“So did he,” said Raymond.

“What?” asked Sara. “He’s a Roman.”

“But he’s lost people too. He has a portrait of his wife and child. They’re dead,” said Raymond. “He didn’t say how, so I guess maybe it wasn’t a violent death, but he prayed over their picture and nearly had a fit just because I touched it.”

Sara breathed out, unsure how to even begin to address the questions that she had building. Luckily Leonard and Mick entered at that moment and saved her the trouble.

“He can’t stay,” said Leonard, immediately.

“Why not?” asked Sara.

“He’s a Roman!” said Leonard, angrily. “That should be enough. We should have just killed him.”

“We need him,” said Raymond.

“Your plan isn’t going to work, Ray,” replied Leonard, getting into Raymond’s personal space. “He hates us as much as we hate him. You’re not going to get him to turn by being nice to him.”

“How about by proving to him that he’s not a Roman?” suggested Ray.

“You’ve had too much wine,” said Mick, grabbing the jug and pouring himself some. “He’s a gods damned First Spear Centurion. He’s as Roman as they come.” He offered the jug to Leonard, but he refused. Raymond had noted that he very rarely drank wine, even at their evening sessions.

“But what if he isn’t?” said Raymond, an idea was building. “He speaks Brittonic with the accent of an extinct tribe, the Catuvellauni, he has a scar on his shoulder that looks like a stag, a symbol of the same tribe, and he told Gideon that he has four names because he was adopted. He wouldn’t be the first Briton that the Romans took back to Rome.”

“Yes, as slaves, not as their adopted sons,” said Sara. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know,” said Raymond, “but I can’t help but feel there’s a lot more to Hunter than he’s told us or perhaps even that he’s aware of. Maybe he was captured during the sack of Caer Ludein and taken back to Rome. He wouldn’t have been that old. It must have been thirty years ago.”

“But you’re still ignoring that he’d be a slave, and surely he’d remember something,” said Sara.

“Maybe he does not wish to remember,” said Gideon.

“Maybe he’s just been lying to us this entire time,” said Leonard. “He’s got no reason to tell us anything about his life.”

“Or maybe he’s a lost Catuvellauni that for some reason the Romans decided to raise as their own,” said Raymond.

“This is the real world, haircut,” said Mick. “Not some fairy tale legend, like Nate tells the kids.”

“I can put out word to the other druids,” suggested Gideon, “and ask if there are any Catuvellauni who remember the Romans capturing slaves during the sacking of Caer Ludein. Some of my people fled to the West. It might be possible that someone will know something.”

The druid network was quite useful for information gathering and, because the druids shared common ground in their religious practice, they were neutral when it came to tribal feuding. It was a good idea.

Sara nodded. “Do it. I’d like to know more about this Centurion, and if it turns out that the Romans lied to him then we might be able to use that to our advantage.”

“Give me and Mick an hour with him and he’ll tell us everything we need him to, starting with what’s in those letters that he’s carrying,” said Leonard, with unmistakeable anger in his tone.

“We’ve discussed this,” said Sara. “You’re not torturing him for information.”

“But it’s okay for Oliver of Glas to do it with his prisoners?” asked Leonard, pointedly.

“What King Oliver does in Venta Trosdi is his business, but you know that even he’s changed after Raymond explained what he was trying to do. I’ve already said that Raymond gets his chance to prove his plan, and if you torture our Centurion then he’ll never trust us. Which reminds me, how’s the rest of it going?”

“The scouts are out and reporting back when they spot anything interesting,” said Leonard. “There’s definitely more activity at the fort and in the Longinus Valley. I think our new friend’s foray into our territory was just the opening salvo, and I’m suspicious of their motives. It feels like there’s more to this than just another grab for power. It’s like Spinosus is looking for something, or testing us. We might be in for a tough summer.”

“Looking for something?” asked Raymond, picking up on the most unusual thing that Leonard had said, “like what?”

“How would I know? But there are Romans asking questions and moving into areas that they’ve never been interested in before,” said Leonard. “They’re being held up by the language barrier, but I doubt that will stop them finding whatever it is for long.”

“See, this is why we need someone who can speak Latin. Then we might have a hope of finding out what they’re asking,” said Raymond. “And I can have a go at cracking those letters too. Hunter didn’t seem to be worried about teaching me Latin, so I’d guess that they’re written in code and he thinks they _can’t_ be cracked, but I’m willing to bet that he’s wrong.”

“Then you’d better pay attention to your lessons and learn something more that “hello, my name is Raymond”,” said Leonard.

“I’m doing my best,” said Raymond. “What are we going to do about Hunter?”

Looks were exchanged around the table.

Sara shrugged. “We can ask him about the scar and if he remembers anything from when he was a kid, but he’s not really been enthusiastic to give us any information. I doubt he’ll tell us anything, even if he knows something. And I don’t think he’s going to accept Gideon’s word that he speaks with a Catuvellauni accent or that it means something.”

“We don’t say anything then?” asked Raymond.

“If we tell him, he won’t believe us, and that trust you’re working so hard to build will be gone,” said Sara.

Raymond nodded reluctantly. “I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see if Gideon’s druid friends can find out anything. Our Centurion is certainly rather more of a problem than I was expecting.”

Gideon nodded. “He is quite stubborn, and unreceptive to our arguments. He is definitely a challenge.” She put her head to one side for a moment. “I like a challenge.”

Sara gave her druid an amused smile. “Good, because he’s yours tomorrow until Ray’s Latin lesson. And if he won’t work, you’re going to need to decide on a suitable punishment. Something which isn’t flogging him…”

Sara shot an annoyed look at Leonard, who rolled his eyes, apparently feeling put upon.

“I have something in mind,” replied Gideon, a slight upturn to her lips.

***

Lacerius awoke in the cave to find that someone had draped a plaid blanket over him as he slept. He frowned. The chill from the fire dying down had been beginning to set in as he’d slept and he’d shivered as he tried to find a comfortable way to sleep on the earthen floor. However, prisoners did not deserve comfort and neither did slaves, and he was confused by the blanket. He added it to the list of strange things that he’d discovered about the people of the Untaridi.

He allowed himself a moment of warmth and calm before he addressed the day, trying not to think too hard about where he was. He was used to sleeping rough and to be honest, the cave was a step up from waking up in a muddy field surrounded by his soldiers, but he did usually at least have a tent. He did rather miss the barracks, as a Centurion, he was lucky enough merit his own small room next door to the main dormitory. It was dry, warm, private, and had a proper cot. It had also been considerably less drafty than a cave.

He blinked and looked around. Gideon was near the mouth of the cave stoking the fire. He pushed himself up and into a sitting position, rubbing his hands over his face. He stretched out his stiff muscles, that were still cold from the night spent on the ground, pulling against the ropes that still bound him.

“ _Good morning_ ,” said Gideon. She spoke carefully, but barely glanced in his direction. “ _I have a busy day ahead of me, so please deal with your morning needs and wash. The guards will take you. There is water in the bowl_.”

Lacerius nodded, and shuffled towards the entrance, where the guards took him to the latrine. He noted that Leonard and Mick had not yet made an appearance this morning, perhaps because they had better things to do than watch him use the excuse for a toilet that these people had. When he returned, Gideon was making some kind of potion over the fire. She indicated the bowl of water for him to wash in, and he was quite grateful for it. He hadn’t been allowed to get clean since he’d arrived in the hillfort, and it felt good to wash the dirt away. He dried his hands and face, moving gingerly around the cut on his head, on the piece of cloth which Gideon seemed to have left him for that purpose.

“ _Would you like_ nenado natrig?” she asked.

“ _I don’t know what that is_ ,” he replied.

She beckoned him over, and he moved a little closer to the fire, enjoying its warmth. His guards kept an eye on him as he did so. Gideon lifted some green leaves out of the pot of boiling water.

“Nenado,” she said. “ _I picked them this morning_.” He recognised them as nettle leaves. Then she dipped a ladle into the boiling water and poured it into two earthenware cups, which she placed on the ground. Then she took out another pot, this one containing what he recognised as honey. She used a small spoon to add some honey to each cup.

“Nenado natrig _with_ meli,” said Gideon. Which he was going to take to mean “nettle tea with honey”.

“ _Drink_ ,” said Gideon.

He looked at the cup, and suspected that something warm would be quite nice about now, but he wasn’t going to drink it unless she did. He had noted that she had poured two cups at the same time, whilst he watched, but he hadn’t seen her actually make the concoction.

“ _You first_ ,” he said.

She sighed, and gave him a rather annoyed look. She picked up the cup and blew on it. Then she made a show of sipping the liquid. He gave it a moment to see if anything strange happened to her and then picked up the other cup. He performed the same ritual that she had of blowing on the liquid to cool it and then drank. It tasted slightly grassy, but not unpleasant, and the honey added a sweetness that he liked.

“ _Today, you are going to help me with my rounds_ ,” said Gideon.

“ _I’ve already said that I won’t help you_ ,” said Lacerius, with a shake of his head. He had no idea what Gideon’s “rounds” might consist of, but he would not assist her.

“ _And you know that your upkeep is contingent upon you pulling your weight_ ,” said Gideon. “ _The Queen has made it quite clear that you aren’t to be fed until you’ve worked_.”

“ _But I’m allowed tea?”_ he asked, taking a longer sip from the cup.

“ _As I keep trying to point out, we’re not savages_ ,” said Gideon. “ _I would prefer you to work and earn your keep._ ”

“ _You could just let me go. Then I wouldn’t be a burden to your tribe_ ,” said Lacerius, hopefully.

Gideon raised her eyebrows, giving him a small smile. “ _That is certainly true, but we have plans for you that require your presence_.”

Lacerius sighed. Out of all of the Untaridi, he had perhaps wondered if Gideon was the one that he could reason with. She seemed the most calmly logical, but he supposed that she was still a barbarian and therefore unable to see sense like a Roman would have been able to.

She sipped her tea. “ _And at this moment,_ _I need someone to carry my_ belenions,” she said.

“ _What is_ belenion?” he asked. Both Gideon and Leonard had used the word, and he couldn’t remember the traders at the fort ever using it.

Gideon indicated the back of the cave and her pots. “Belenion. _Things to treat wounds and stop pain. To help with illness and disease._ ”

“ _Your witches’ brews_ ,” he replied.

“ _I’m not a witch_ ,” said Gideon. “ _I’m a druid. Surely even a Roman must know what that is?”_

Lacerius nodded. “ _You lead the worship of the false gods of the Britons. You cast spells on Romans and make human sacrifices to your gods_.”

Gideon choked a little on her tea. She seemed to be laughing.

 _“What’s so funny?”_ he asked.

 _“Human sacrifices!”_ she said, between giggles. _“Do you really think that’s what we do?”_

He didn’t see what was so funny. When the Romans had sacked the island of Mona, the druids’ altars and sacred groves there has been drenched with blood. It was a tale told in hushed tones by Roman legionaries late at night, and why druids were usually executed on sight if caught.

He nodded, somewhat cautiously.

“ _I don’t think I’ve ever heard that one before,”_ she said. _“At the high festivals, we occasionally sacrifice a deer, but never a person. I’m a follower of Sulis. She gives life. She doesn’t take it.”_

“ _But you practice magic?”_ he asked.

“ _Not really. I use my knowledge of herbs and other natural things to make medicines that help people. Sulis works through me to heal people,_ ” replied Gideon. “ _Is this why you keep expecting us to poison you?”_

“ _One of several reasons_ ,” replied Lacerius. “ _You’re the enemy and, quite frankly, I don’t trust you._ ”

“ _That’s fine by me,”_ said a familiar drawl. “ _I don’t trust you either.”_ Leonard was standing at the cave mouth, cleaning his nails with a knife. Lacerius’ brief moment of civilisation appeared to be at an end, and he bit down on an acerbic reply. He decided that he didn’t want to start the morning with a new bruise.

“ _People are waiting, Gideon_ ,” said Leonard.

“ _Very well_ ,” replied the druid. “ _Hunter, finish your tea. I will collect my medicines and get ready_.”

Lacerius sighed, and did as suggested. He was hungry but apparently work came first and given that he wasn’t planning on being particularly helpful, he suspected that he wouldn’t be fed. The tea might be all he got today. He placed the empty cup down on the ground and found himself being pulled to his feet, a knife at his throat.

“ _Please, give me an excuse today_ ,” said Leonard, and then he removed the knife and took a step back. “ _Help Gideon with her things_.”

“ _No_ ,” he said. “ _I am not your slave. I am a citizen of Rome._ ”

“ _You’ll be a dead citizen of Rome if you don’t do as I say_ ,” snarled Leonard.

“ _And I will meet the gods happily, if only to get away from you_ ,” replied Lacerius, viciously.

Leonard rolled his eyes. “ _Let me explain the situation to you one more time. You are a slave. You do as we say and, if you’re lucky, you get to eat_.”

Lacerius looked at the Briton with determination. “ _I have been hungry before_.”

Gideon approached the entrance of the cave, holding a leather satchel which bulged with pots from her collection. “ _Is he still being unhelpful?”_

Leonard nodded. “ _I believe Sara said punishment was in order if he wouldn’t work._ ”

“ _She did, although perhaps what I have in mind is overly harsh,”_ said Gideon. “ _But if it doesn’t have some impact then I suspect Raymond’s plan won’t work either. Let’s call it a test. Bring him.”_

Gideon strode away, out of the cave, and Leonard pushed Lacerius to follow her. Mick joined them as they exited the cave. This time Lacerius concentrated on taking in the layout of his surroundings. If he was going to escape then he would have to know his potential routes out of the town and what lay around it. He doubted that he would get more than one chance.

They walked him through the houses, to one that was on the outskirts of the town. Gideon pushed open the door, and was assailed by a group of rather grubby looking children.

“ _Gideon!_ ” came shouts from around her.

Gideon positively grinned as she entered, greeting each child by name. Lacerius frowned, and then Leonard pulled him to one side, and began to undo the ropes around his hands and ankles.

“ _Behave_ ,” said Leonard, “ _or I won’t hesitate to slit your throat. They don’t need a reminder of what it’s like to be a slave, but they’ve seen worse than a dead Roman if it comes to that.”_

Lacerius was somewhat confused. “ _You’re allowing me to be unrestrained in a room full of children?_ ”

Leonard shrugged. “ _You keep on saying that you’re an honourable man. Time to prove it. Besides, I intend on staying close. That’s at least partly for your protection.”_

The ropes were handed to Mick, who was still lurking a couple of steps back. Lacerius was pushed forwards again, and into the building.

“ _Coming in, Mick?”_ Leonard asked his partner.

Mick shook his head. “ _Not a chance_.”

“ _Leonard!_ ” shouted the children again.

It was dimmer inside, and it appeared to be a house like the others he’d seen, except with more beds around the walls. There was a fire burning in the hearth and it was warm inside. Lacerius counted twelve children of different ages, from five to ten, and for the merest second an image of Jonas flashed across his thoughts, before he shoved that thought to the back of his mind. He would not think about his own lost child here. He could not bear it, but it was hard not to remember.

Gideon had moved off to one side of the building where she was tending to a small girl on crutches. She appeared to be examining her leg.

“ _Hey, kids_ ,” said Leonard, with a smile as he folded his arms across his chest. “ _I brought you a new playmate. This is Hunter. Feel free to be as rough with him as you like._ ”

Lacerius’ eyes widened, and he just looked at Leonard for a moment. Apparently, the dangerous man who would hit him at the slightest wrong word and could produce knives from nowhere, had a softer side. That was his final coherent thought before six of the bigger children in the group tackled him to the ground and began talking in fast Brettonian that he barely understood.

“ _Slow down_ ,” he said, between gasps of air. It was difficult to breathe with having several children sitting on top of him. “ _I don’t understand_.”

One of the older ones shushed the others. “ _Play a game with us?_ ” she asked.

“ _I don’t seem to have much choice_ ,” said Lacerius, managing to push himself up into a sitting position.

“ _You talk funny_ ,” said a small boy.

“ _I expect I do_ ,” replied Lacerius. He got the impression that mentioning that he was a Roman might not be a good idea. “ _What do you want to play?_ ”

“ _Hunting_ ,” said one of the boys. “ _You can be the boar. You have to crawl and then we catch you. Gideon said no spears this time.”_

“ _Right_ ,” replied Lacerius. “ _So, I crawl and you try to catch me? I think I can manage that.”_

Lacerius lost track of time as he pretended to be a boar and the children attempted various methods of hunting him, including throwing blankets over him, hiding behind the furniture to jump out at him, and simply piling on top of him to tackle him to the ground. This wasn’t really how he had envisioned Gideon’s idea of punishment going, but he missed his son and their games. He would allow himself this moment of happiness. He doubted it would hurt anyone for him to play with the children of the Untaridi. He was divulging no secrets or assisting them in any way that could be seen as helping them attack the Romans.

Finally, Gideon called them off, and they sat around the fire, waiting for their midday meal. They talked quietly, giggling occasionally.

“ _Help me serve the food,”_ said Gideon.

Lacerius was a little tired, but he nodded, and without really thinking about it, he helped to pass out the wooden plates, and then the bread and berries that they were eating for lunch. He noticed that there were three children who lay on beds around the room, as well as the little girl on crutches. Gideon indicated that he should take the plates to these children, and as he neared them, he realised that all three children were pale and ill. The little girl on crutches had a mangled foot. He recognised it as a badly healed break, one which had set wrong, probably some time ago now. He’d seen enough in the fort’s hospital to know the injury when he saw it.

He returned to Gideon’s side. “ _These children are_ orfanae, _aren’t they?”_ he asked, and then realised he had no idea what the Brettonic was for a child without parents and that he had substituted the Latin term. “ _They have no parents?_ ”

Gideon supplied the word. “ _Yes, they’re orphans. The Romans killed their parents during the raid on Venta Trosdi._ ”

Lacerius noted that Leonard had gone to talk to one of the children lying on the cots. He saw the way the tall guardsman’s demeanour changed. He smiled and joked with the child, making the boy smile too.

“ _So, this is the punishment? To rub my nose in what the Romans have done? That my people caused these children to lose their parents?”_ he asked, suddenly annoyed. This was unfair. The country was at war and casualties were to be expected.

Gideon inclined her head slightly. She spoke quietly; loud enough for him to hear but not the children. “ _Your people enslaved these children and left them in cages open to the elements in a field to be collected by slave traders. A horse broke Ria’s leg and no one offered her help. It healed badly and now she is in constant pain. Catia, Aefrid, and Eisu contracted illnesses and have yet to get better. They all huddled together for warmth but they couldn’t help them much. Eisu had a fever and it’s a miracle he survived. When Leonard and Mick opened the cage, they said that the bodies of three other children had already begun to rot. Venta Trosdi was a broken town. Oliver of Glas already had starving people to feed, injured to care for, and homes to rebuild. The Untaridi took them in because it was the least we could do to help our neighbours._ ”

“ _I wasn’t at Venta Trosdi_ ,” said Lacerius. “ _And this is war. They were spoils of war.”_

Gideon looked at him for a moment. Her eyes were hard and for the first time he thought maybe she might hate him just as much as Mick, Leonard and the others. “ _Dead children are spoils of nothing, Hunter. Life is sacred, and the Romans have done nothing but kill and take from our land. I know you had a family. Would you have seen their lives to be worth as little as these children, who you would condemn to slavery so happily?_ ”

“ _No, but others did_ ,” said Lacerius, quietly, looking down. “ _Barbarians like you and your tribe killed my wife and child. So, do not play this game with me. If you blame me for the attack on Venta Trosdi then I will hold you responsible for the deaths of family. And I led a crusade across Europe to get my revenge for them.”_

“ _And did you find peace at the end of your crusade?”_ asked Gideon.

Lacerius paused, he took a deep breath and shook his head. “ _No, only more death. There is no peace for someone like me.”_

Gideon reached out a hand and placed it on his. “ _Not everyone has an easy path. And you can find peace, Hunter, but not with the Roman Legion.”_

He gave a half laugh, looking down at the unexpected gesture. “ _And I suppose you think I will find it here, with you?”_

Gideon looked around her. “ _Perhaps, perhaps not. I don’t know what the Fates have in store for you, but you make a very capable boar. Is it really so bad to leave the killing behind and work here for us?”_

“ _I am a citizen of Rome. I have a duty to my Emperor_ ,” said Lacerius, feeling his back straighten as almost a conditioned response. “ _And a duty to my father not to dishonour his name.”_

 _“Then perhaps you should ask yourself whether his name is worth it,”_ replied Gideon.

He met her eyes for a moment, and he felt like she knew something that he didn’t. His brow furrowed but he wasn’t even sure what question he needed to ask.

Gideon took out another plate and put bread and berries upon it. She handed it to Lacerius.

“ _I thought I would only be fed if I worked?”_ he asked, in a surprised tone.

“ _As I said, you did make a very capable boar, and I am sure Leonard is grateful, because otherwise he would have been the one being wrestled to the ground,”_ said Gideon. “ _Perhaps you could carry my medicines for the rest of my rounds though, as at least a token effort. After lunch, I have other sick people to see to, but I like to spend time with the children when I can.”_

Lacerius nodded. _“I can understand why. At least here there is hope for the future.”_

Leonard came and sat with them and also ate. He eyed the plate that Gideon had given Lacerius but he didn’t comment on it.

Leonard re-tied the ropes around his wrists and ankles once they left the house where the children lived. Apparently, his trust only extended to being certain that their prisoner wouldn’t harm children. Lacerius carried Gideon’s bag of medicines without a word as she completed her afternoon rounds of the sick and infirm in the town. He watched as she dealt with each person’s needs and how carefully she tended to injuries and illnesses. He saw how upset she was when there was nothing more that could be done to help her patient.

He watched it all, and for the first time, he wondered if perhaps the Romans had judged the Britons too harshly. However, who was he, a mere Centurion, to second guess the will of the Emperor.

***

Gideon had accompanied Lacerius to Raymond’s house, and then had taken ink and vellum from him. Lacerius knew better than to ask exactly what Gideon wanted it for. He would not get an answer with Leonard and Mick standing guard over him. Trust extended in two directions, and they did not trust him with their secrets anymore than he trusted them with his.

“ _How did it go with Gideon this morning?_ ” asked Raymond. “ _I heard she took you to see the orphaned children._ ”

“ _I think her object lesson was somewhat overly pointed_ ,” said Lacerius, a little bitterly.

He preferred not to think too hard about the image he now had in his head of the _orfanae_ in one of the cages that the Romans used for slaves. Lacerius had never sent children as tribute, but he had no issue with enslaving enemy combatants as the spoils of war. It was just another aspect of waging war against the barbarian hordes, and slaves kept the Roman Empire running. It would be impossible to abandon the idea of slavery without it costing them their civilisation.

“ _The sack of Venta Trosdi affected a lot of us_ ,” said Raymond, suddenly looking sad and Lacerius remembered that Raymond’s betrothed had been killed in Venta Trosdi.

“ _Several of your tribe seem to come from there_ ,” said Lacerius, again avoiding thinking about something that he had no wish to dwell upon. “ _I thought you were born into a tribe and stayed there_.”

Raymond gave a half shrug. “ _The Untaridi are a tribe of misfits and outcasts. It’s how Sara likes it. We take in anyone who has useful skills and is willing to work. Leonard and Mick came here from Venta Medi, so did Martin and Jax. I was from Venta Trosdi like the kids and Nate, who you haven’t met yet._ ”

“ _And Gideon?”_ asked Lacerius.

“ _You’ll have to ask her that,”_ said Raymond, a little too fast. This was the second time today that he’d felt like someone wasn’t telling him something. “ _But we have close ties with the Saighdeoir of Venta Trosdi and the Meltasi of Venta Medi.”_

 _“Why them and not other tribes?”_ he asked.

“ _Laurel, that’s Sara’s sister, was betrothed to Oliver, he’s the king of the Saighdeoir. But Laurel was killed helping to defend Venta Trosdi_ ,” explained Raymond. “ _Oliver used to visit Venta Untaridi all the time, and he knows Sara well. Oliver was a bit less controlled in his younger days. He challenged King Bartolo of Ster, he’s king of the Meltasi, to a race at the Lammas Games and of course Bartolo won. People were worried it would turn into a rivalry but instead they became good friends. They say that Bartolo is the fastest man alive, although his brother, Wallace, is now trying to beat him.”_

“ _So a group of three tribes have an alliance based on a broken engagement and a running race? This is a very strange area of the country,”_ said Lacerius.

Raymond said nothing further on the matter, and they began their lesson. Lacerius took Raymond through more basics of the language and got him declining nouns and conjugating verbs.

“I am, you are, he, she, it is. We are, you are, they are,” said Raymond.

Lacerius nodded. “Good, and the regular verb.”

“Verb,” he repeated, and frowned, trying to remember the word. “Verb! I shout, you shout, he, she, it shouts. We shout, you shout, they shout,” he replied.

He was trying to talk as much Latin as possible so that hopefully Raymond would pick up more as they went along. Apart from anything, Lacerius enjoyed speaking his native tongue and had missed it somewhat. He knew that much of the battle would be teaching Raymond a reasonable vocabulary and they didn’t have much in the way of Latin for him to practice reading. Lacerius had been given access to Drusus vast library of books when he had been learning to read. He hadn’t been a quick study and Maria had been very patient with him.

“Good,” he said again. “You’re picking it up quickly.”

“I am good,” replied Raymond, with a grin, clearly knowing the sentiment was somewhat blunt but unable to manage anything better at this stage.

Leonard once again sat watching them, while Mick waited outside, preferring to sit in the fading afternoon sun.

“ _I think that’s all we have time for,_ ” said Raymond. “ _But you’re working with me tomorrow, so maybe we can practice more while we work._ ”

Lacerius nodded. He realised that this would mean he would be returned to the cave again for the night, and left alone with his thoughts. His anger at his captivity seemed to be fading to be replaced by something else that he hadn’t yet identified. Partly it was a more thoughtful determination to escape, but there was also an underlying layer of guilt. Apparently, Gideon’s words had made an impact, and he wasn’t at all sure he liked the idea that she had the ability to reach him in this way.

“ _Can I ask you about your childhood?_ ” asked Raymond.

Lacerius had been deep in thought and now his head snapped up to meet Raymond’s eyes.

“ _Why?”_ he asked.

“ _Because I told you something about our tribe, and it seems fair you tell us about yourself in exchange,_ ” said Raymond.

“ _My childhood is none of your business_ ,” he replied, crossly.

“ _I was just interested because Gideon said you were adopted. I wondered how that had happened_ ,” said Raymond.

He shrugged. “ _All I remember is a fire. My father, my adoptive father that is, he rescued me and raised me as his own._ ”

“ _How old were you?”_ asked Leonard, speaking for the first time in a while.

Lacerius shrugged. “ _Four or five I think.”_ He could almost smell the wood burning, and see the ash in the air. The memory came unbidden, and he wondered why he was remembering this now. It had been years since he’d even thought about the circumstances of his adoption. Things seemed to be closer to the surface since he’d been brought to Venta Untaridi. He was being reminded of all manner of things that he would probably have preferred to forget.

“ _Where was the fire?_ ” asked Raymond.

“ _One of the districts of Rome. I’ve never thought to ask which_ ,” he said, although in truth he’d never asked because he suspected that he would not like the answer. His father was of the Patrician class and, as his adopted son, Lacerius was accorded some of that rank. If he had wanted to enter public life then he would have had that option, although returning to the Legion made it less likely now. However, he had no wish to discover that his father had plucked him from some plebeian dwelling in the Aventine.

“ _You sure about that?”_ asked Leonard, perhaps catching the half-truth.

Quite honestly, Lacerius memories of that night were hazy at best. He remembered a woman’s voice, shouting for him, and screams, and heat, and flames, and smoke. He remembered crying desperately and with every fibre of his being, because he was so scared. He remembered a horse, and being scooped up from the ground by a man that had turned out to be Drusus.

“ _I wasn’t very old_ ,” said Lacerius. “ _I remember very little. I couldn’t even remember my full name. Not that it is of any importance to you._ ”

He glared at Leonard. Raymond was about to open his mouth to ask something else but Leonard gave him a look, and Raymond remained quiet. Instead Leonard got to his feet and grabbed Lacerius by an arm, ushering him roughly towards outside.

“ _Come on, back to the cave_ ,” he said.

The sun was going down as they walked back through the houses. Gideon could be seen standing at the altar in the small, open, temple at the centre of the village. It was made of wooden posts with fresh greenery forming a canopy. She was singing to the setting sun in what Lacerius assumed were the evening rites of worship to Sulis. Her voice was beautiful and he wondered what her story was and why Raymond had refused to tell him. If Venta Untaridi was a town of misfits and outcast, which was Gideon? He wondered if she would ever trust him enough to tell him. He wondered if he would ever trust her enough to let her.

***AD 59***

Drusus sat back in his chair, watching Agrippa leave the Consul’s chambers. He steepled his fingers in thought.

“Your adopted son is becoming a problem,” said Spinosus.

“He’s where we need him to be,” replied Drusus.

“That isn’t the issue. I’m worried that you can’t control him,” said Spinosus, striding across the room in rapid steps. “Killing his wife and child was a mistake. His grief has made him unstable.”

“He was planning to leave the army and take up a position in Rome,” said Drusus, “he needed a push.”

“There were other ways to accomplish that. Now he’s baying for Savage’s blood, and we need the barbarian alive. I don’t trust Venator to obey orders,” said Spinosus.

Drusus looked at his political ally. The man was a military genius, but quick to anger and impatient when it came to results. They needed to play a long game if their plans were to come to fruition.

“He is under your command, General,” said Drusus. “If you want him to remain here rather than join the battle tomorrow then you only have to say. There are legitimate concerns after all.”

“And sacrifice one of my best Centurions? That would be seen as sentimental,” said Spinosus. “This is the army of Rome and I expect my orders to be obeyed!”

“I have men with him that will guarantee his obedience,” said Drusus. “I paid his Optio quite a sum to ensure his safety and compliance.”

“This should never have been allowed to get this far. We should have returned him to Britannia years ago,” spat Spinosus.

“Acting while the country was in turmoil would only have delayed our operation, especially with Plautius playing General for the Emperor. No, now is the right time. I have the Consulship and influence in the Senate. No one will be surprised at my joining the Legion in Britannia, or at you for leading them there. And Agrippa has been a very useful pawn in our game, you must admit,” said Drusus.

“I admit that he is a good soldier and becoming something of a tactician,” said Spinosus, smirking slightly. “You raised him to be smart and careful. A worthy son of Rome. I hope you’re not too attached.”

Drusus smiled a dangerous smile. “Only to our ultimate goal.”

***

The moon was still in the sky, although being eclipsed quickly by the weak rays of the rising sun, when Lacerius roused himself. It was also full, which he took to be a good omen. He stopped to bow his head and pray before he made his way out of the fort.

“Diana, virgin goddess of the hunt and the moon, you who have been my protectress all this time. I beg you to extend your good fortune to this, my hunting expedition. Allow me to get justice for the deaths of my wife and son,” he murmured the prayer. “I pour this libation to honour you.”

He took out his flask and poured the wine that was in it on the ground at his feet. It wasn’t a truly satisfactory offering for a goddess as highly acclaimed as Diana, but it was all he had available to him. He hoped that she would understand. She had answered a good number his prayers, no matter how humble the offering. It was Fortuna who regarded him as her plaything, and he still wondered if he’d angered her somehow.

He would not have much chance to carry out his revenge. The army would leave the fort at first light and he could not get away much before then without drawing extra suspicion upon himself. Roman forts weren’t hard to get out of, assuming you knew what you were doing, unless all the guards had been informed that you were to be prevented from leaving. His Optio, Gavus, has also been sticking quite closely to his side and he’d had to lose him amongst the bustle of troops and morning cooking fires. It was not something that he relished doing to a man who was constantly at his side and had always served him well.

He had no way to obtain a horse, so he would have to content himself with being on foot. He supposed that it was only fitting that he should work for his revenge, and he set out towards the Vandals’ camp rapidly, jogging for a while before walking again to get his breath back. He slowed down as he approached. There were clumps of long grass and he used them to hide himself as he got closer to observe the army of the Vandals assembling for battle. He could see their troops putting on their armour and lining up. They weren’t as disciplined as their Roman equivalents but there were rather more of them.

He abandoned his red cloak, folding it up behind a bush, and stealthily made his way close enough to a hapless Vandal that he could tackle him. He leapt out from his hiding place as quietly as he could manage and grabbed the sentry around the neck, clamping a hand over his mouth to prevent the inevitable scream. He squeezed the man’s neck until the struggling stopped and then removed his clothes, throwing them on top of his uniform so that he looked more like a Vandal. He tied up his unfortunate victim with his own undershirt and left him behind a tent on the edge of the camp. Someone would find him eventually, but probably not until Lacerius had done what was required.

He adjusted his new cloak and headed into the Vandals’ camp, striding in a way that made it look as if he knew where he was going. He spoke almost nothing of their language, perhaps enough to order a surrender but that was it. If anyone stopped him then he’d be unable to bluff his way out. The only thing he could do was to continue onwards and hope for the best.

There was a large, and quite ornate, tent, that had been erected near the centre of the temporary camp. He reasoned that this was where he would most likely find the Chief and he worked his way towards it. As he walked, he took note of the locations of the horses that were being readied for the battle; he might need a horse later. Some of them were only loosely tied and being readied for cavalry riders, others were being attached to chariots.

The grey light of day was making itself known all across the camp, and it would be harder to hide the higher the sun got. He needed to hurry, but as he neared the tent he could see guards at the entrance. He would have to find another way into the huge tent. It was easily as big as his father’s quarters back at the fort, and he reasoned it must have an entrance for servants as well as the grand front entrance. He skirted around the side of the tent carefully, aware that the density of guards here was high and that everyone was on alert with the battle imminent.

He found the rear entrance and watched for a second as serving girls entered with bunches of grapes and bread. There were guards here too but he could deal with them more easily, being tucked away around the back. He looked around for some prop to make his approach less suspicious. He found a jar of wine, one of several in a stack at the back of the tent, and picked it up, carrying it high on his shoulder. He pulled the hood of his stolen cloak up over his head to hide his features. He moved towards the entrance, hoping that he would just be waved through, and much to his relief, and surprise, he was.

Inside the tent the light was dim, and came from flickering oil lamps. He could hear voices and they seemed to be discussing something, although he couldn’t understand what they were saying. The tent was curtained off into several areas and all he had to do now was move amongst the shadows to reach his goal.

He could see several men grouped around a table. They were examining a large map of the terrain, no doubt planning for today’s battle. Lacerius drew his knife, readying himself for what he had to do. He was beginning to realise that he might not survive this. He could easily kill Chief Savage, the man with dark hair and beard, who had all the trappings of royalty, but escaping afterwards would be difficult. The Chief wore a dark blue cloak, woven with intricate, twisting patterns in black thread, and a gold chain of small golden discs around his neck. There was a large ring on his right hand, with a big, red stone mounted on it, and his black leather armour was covered in circular patterns of the same blood-red jewels.

Lacerius knew that he would only have one chance to strike and he would have to wait for a moment when Savage was with less people. The armour would mean he could only go for the neck and he’d have no other way of killing his foe easily. However, all he needed was one chance, one attack and he would have his vengeance. What happened to him after that was in the laps of Fortuna and Diana, but he would hope that he would survive it and not be disappointed if he did not. He longed to be with Miranda and Jonas and this would be as fitting a way as any for that to happen.

He stalked the shadows in the corners of the tent, moving between the curtains so as not to be found. Eventually the Vandal advisors or, perhaps, generals departed to ready their troops and Savage was left alone with only a couple of guards, who now also moved away to give their leader some privacy.

“You can come out now,” said Savage, looking directly at Lacerius’ hiding place. He spoke in Latin. Good Latin of the kind spoken by someone educated in Rome. “I know that you are there, stranger, stalking me with your knife.”

Lacerius took a step forwards into the tent. “I hadn’t realised that I had been so obvious.”

“Obvious? No, I’m just experienced in the ways of assassins, and you have had little training in that area,” said Savage. “You’re a soldier, I’d say, in the army of my enemy given your boots and response to my Latin.”

“Correct,” replied Lacerius.

“And what slight have I committed that I am worth murdering with your own hand?”

“My wife and child were killed on your order,” said Lacerius, biting the ends of the words out, such was his emotion behind them. “Without provocation. Your men attacked my villa at Pisea.”

Savage shook his head. “I have attacked and killed many men, women and probably children, but none of my men have ever entered Italia. You are misinformed, stranger.”

Lacerius surged forwards with a cry of rage. “Don’t you dare deny your part in it!” He had his knife at Chief Savage’s throat, and the blade had drawn the tiniest rivulet of blood. It ran down the Chief’s neck as he tried to take a step backwards and found the map table at his back.

“You killed my wife and son! They were everything to me!” he shouted, again pressing forwards with the knife.

“Someone is lying to you, stranger,” replied Savage, surprisingly calm.

Lacerius hesitated, and for a moment his resolve softened, the blade in his hand shaking. The Vandal was the one lying, there was no doubt about that, barbarians lied, but a small voice was asking him if he really was sure about that. It was enough to make him hesitate and that was enough to make him wonder why the Vandal would be so insistent that his men had not done it. The barbarian had killed enough men that he doubted the lives of his wife and child had made an impact. Why would he not admit his complicity in their deaths? He had to know that Lacerius would kill him either way.

Even without the deaths of Miranda and Jonas on his hands, Savage was still a murderer and the gods would not condemn him if he killed such a man. He wanted to kill him, for every father who had lost a child, for every husband who had lost a wife, but he found he could not. At least not this way. Lacerius had killed in battle a hundred times, but he had never killed in cold blood, without provocation. Now that the moment was here, he could not find it in himself to strike the killing blow, and he hated himself for it.

Savage looked down at the blade that was at his neck and the way it had not moved further. “And here you are, unable to even take the revenge you so desperately seek. Finish the job you started, you pitiful excuse for a man.”

“Oh, I will,” replied Lacerius, making a decision, “but I will see you on display in Rome for everything that you have done to my people. They will execute you publicly, after you’ve spent weeks in the tullianum. That’s the prison where political prisoners like you wait for their execution. I’m told it’s cold, damp, full of cockroaches and that they don’t bother to feed you while you’re there, because why waste food on a dead man. I think that’s a more fitting fate, don’t you?”

“We’ll see,” replied the Chief. “First you have to get me out of my own camp.”

“Yes, I do, but you’re going to help me, because otherwise I’ll kill you right here, exactly as I’d planned,” said Lacerius. “I’m willing to bet that you’re so attached to your miserable life that even knowing where I’m taking you, you’d rather not die this second.”

Savage gave a snort of a laugh. “Very well, stranger. I will play along for now, but you have no idea what you have got yourself into. There are wheels turning within wheels, and more important men that you have plans for me.”

“What?” asked Lacerius, suddenly wondering what the Vandal meant.

“You’ll hopefully live to understand,” replied Savage.

Lacerius decided that enough was enough. “I think you’ve said enough. I’d suggest you’re careful with your words from here on.” He grabbed a piece of cord from one of the curtains, and used it to tie the Vandal’s hands. “We’re leaving, now. Put up the hood of your cloak. We’ll go out the back entrance.”

The Vandal nodded and did as suggested. Lacerius also replaced his own hood. The two men exited the tent and Lacerius indicated that Savage should move towards the horses. They were only stopped once, and Savage simply told the man to mind his own business, which he did and allowed them to go on their way. He put Savage on the horse and then got on behind his prisoner, keeping the dagger pressed to a gap in his armour at all times. Savage seemed strangely calm about the entire matter.

Lacerius rode out of the Vandals’ camp with Chief Savage as his prisoner and, in the dim light of morning, no one questioned why their leader was leaving. It was a relatively short ride across the Germanic hills to the fort and Lacerius rode back into his camp with considerably more fanfare than he’d left. A cheer went up in the camp when word got around of who Lacerius had captured.

Lacerius caught the eye of his father, who was standing in the doorway of his quarters. He knew that Drusus was aware of what he had tried to do, and from the look he was being sent, was unhappy with him. However, he doubted any punishment would follow. He fully expected Spinosus to claim that he had sent Lacerius on this mission, and Lacerius had no problem with that fabrication if it ensured that everyone saved face.

The day’s battle with the Vandals was a one-sided affair. Without their Chief the barbarians scattered quickly, and Vandal blood soaked the battlefield. Centurion Lacerius Venator led his century with the honour and efficiency that everyone had come to expect of him, although perhaps he fought a little more viciously than usual. He had hoped that dealing with Savage would lessen the pain in his heart, but instead he felt more hollow than ever. Truly all he had left now was to be a sword of Rome, and he would do that to the best of his ability.


	4. Igni Suo Involvunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 20th Legion sacked Ynys Mon (which the Romans called Mona and the English called Anglesey) in 60 AD. It was a brutal massacre at one of the most sacred locations of the Druids. The religion never recovered its previous power, which was exactly what the Romans wanted.

* * *

 

“Then urged by their general's appeals and mutual encouragements not to quail before a troop of frenzied women, they bore the standards onwards, smote down all resistance, and wrapped the foe in the flames of his own brands.” Tacitus, Annals 14.30

“dein cohortationibus ducis et se ipsi stimulantes ne muliebre et fanaticum agmen pavescerent, inferunt signa sternuntque obvios et igni suo involvunt." – Tacitus, Annals 14.30, describing the sack of Ynys Mon.

***AD 61***

Someone had left a second blanket for Lacerius in the cave, so that he now had one to put underneath himself while he slept. It helped to keep the chill of the ground away and he found sleeping in the cave a little easier.

He was escorted by his guards, not Leonard and Mick who were apparently occupied elsewhere, to Raymond’s house the next day. The Briton was already working at his desk, and he appeared to be sketching with charcoal on vellum.

“Greetings,” said Lacerius.

“Greetings,” replied Raymond, with a reasonable Roman accent.

“What are we doing today?” asked Lacerius.

“ _I understood the question, but I can’t answer it in Latin,_ ” said Raymond.

“ _Yes, I admit that we have some way to go in your Latin education_ ,” said Lacerius. “ _Also, I feel it only fair to mention that I still won’t work for you._ ”

“ _Which is why I thought I’d get someone to teach you how to bake bread,_ ” said Raymond. “ _I know you won’t tell us secrets or help us with military tactics, but you will be very bored if all you do is sit in the cave all day, not to mention hungry._ ”

“ _Being your house slave was not on my list of things to keep myself occupied with, as we have already discussed,_ ” said Lacerius.

Ray turned away from his desk and towards Lacerius. “ _Look, I don’t want to hurt you and I know, despite your stoic Roman exterior, you don’t want to be hurt. I’m trying to meet you half way so that we can both save face._ ”

“ _By asking me to do a woman’s work?_ ” asked Lacerius.

“ _Don’t let Sara hear you say that,”_ replied Raymond. “ _We share duties here equally. I have an agreement that I provide the tribe with my inventions and in return, they provide me with food and water. There are a few others of us that also have the same arrangement. I’d never have time to bake bread and I don’t have a family to look after me. If Sara hadn’t suggested this, then I wouldn’t be as productive or useful to her._ ”

“ _In Rome, we have bakers and we pay for bread,_ ” replied Lacerius.

“ _But Rome is a huge city and we’re only a small town,_ ” said Raymond. “ _We don’t have enough people to have dedicated bakers, but one person can make a couple of extra loaves for their neighbour. That’s pretty much how we work. So, if you spend the morning learning how to bake bread, you’ll earn lunch. And I can work while you’re doing that._ ”

There was a knock at the door and a woman with brown hair and a big smile entered. The smile was directed mainly at Raymond.

“ _Hi there_ ,” she said. “ _I told father I’d be away for most of the morning_.”

“ _Thanks for coming_ ,” said Raymond. “ _Hunter, this is Lily, daughter of Martin. She sometimes helps out in the forge, but she’s mainly responsible for our grain harvest, and today she’s agreed to teach you how to make bread._ ”

Lacerius sighed. Once again, he could not think of a reason to refuse to learn a new skill, especially if it meant that he’d be fed. Breakfast had consisted of more nettle tea with honey and he was definitely hungry. He was wondering if he could justify working as a slave just to be fed in order to have enough strength that he could escape.

“ _Very well_ ,” said Lacerius, with a put-upon sigh.

He sat down beside the fire, and noticed that Lily touched Raymond lightly on the arm as she came past. She carried a basket that contained various bowls and pots. The woman busied herself around Raymond’s house, collecting cooking pots and the stones the Britons used for grinding flour. She didn’t seem terribly worried about being so close to a Roman, although he supposed he didn’t look very threatening, with ropes still limiting his movements.

Lacerius spent a long morning learning how to make bread in the Brittonic fashion and felt that he was reasonably competent by the end of the session.

“ _Have you done this before?_ ” asked Lily.

He shook his head.

“ _I think you’re a natural then_ ,” said Lily. “ _Most people burn a few before they get the hang of it, or they over knead the dough, or add too much water. There’s actually a lot that can go wrong._ ”

Raymond came over and sat by the fire with them, and they ate freshly baked bread and cheese made from the milk of the goats that he’d seen in the field nearby. Lacerius was hungry, as he always was by this point. Raymond and Lily made small talk about how the crops were growing and the weather whilst they ate. Lacerius mostly remained silent. Many of the technical terms that they used were unfamiliar to him, so he didn’t really understand much of their conversation anyway.

“ _If you clean up and we have our Latin lesson then I think we’ll say you’ve earnt dinner and breakfast_ ,” said Raymond, when they were done.

Lacerius hesitated a moment but nodded. He really did not want to do such menial tasks, but he did want to be fed, and this seemed a small price to pay.

It was as he was collecting the wooden bowls and plates from their meal that he noticed that Raymond had cut the bread and cheese with a knife. It was now sat waiting to be cleaned and cleared away with the rest of the items. Raymond was talking to Lily and generally distracted. If he could hide it in his tunic or cloak, then he might stand a chance of cutting his ropes and escaping. Currently they were tied too tightly for him to be able to undo them with one hand. He knew because he had tried. He would still have to deal with his guards, but if he waited until night then he’d have the best chance.

He silently sent a prayer to Diana, and covered the knife with the edge of his tunic. He turned and surreptitiously picked it up, hiding it at the folds around his belt. It wasn’t terribly secure there, but if he was careful it should hold. He managed to get through the entire remainder of the day without the knife being found, and when he was escorted back to the cave, he waited until he was sure that no one was looking, dug a small hole in the earth under his blanket and hid the knife there, covering it over with more soil.

***

The days passed in much the same way for a while, until it had been several weeks since his capture. He had yet to find a way outside the hillfort. His possession of the knife meant that he would be able to cut his ropes, but if he had no way to get out once that was done, then it was useless to him. He had noted that the Untaridi shut the gates to the town each night and that guards were always posted. He spent any time he was outside trying to observe the patterns of the guards, and whether there was another way out of the hillfort that might be unguarded.

Lacerius had decided that helping Gideon with the children, or the sick, was something that he could do with a clear conscience, and if he did as she asked then he would be fed. Sometimes she would take him to collect herbs from the garden she had cultivated for the purpose, and he helped her tend it. He knew that she also went outside the walls around the town to collect other plants, but he was never asked to accompany her, which was a shame because it would have presented a perfect opportunity for escape.

He also had no issue with teaching Raymond Latin, and doing some basic chores for him. He drew the line at working in the forge, and on those days he went hungry. It was a reasonable compromise to his honour, and although he didn’t enjoy the enforced fasting, he could deal with it. Gideon at least continued to make him nettle tea even on the days when he refused to work, and he found himself appreciating the kindness of the druid more and more.

Something of a surprise came when he realised that Leonard had been paying more attention to Raymond’s Latin lessons than he’d thought. It was his custom to pray to Diana before he slept, and to look at the picture of his wife and son and ask the spirits of the dead to keep them safe. The guardsman had watched this on several nights, but never said anything, until curiosity seemed to get the better of him one night.

“Why do you do that?” he asked, in perfect Latin.

Lacerius frowned at him. “You’ve been paying attention,” he observed, in the same language.

“Please, it’s not that hard,” said Leonard.

“You could just have said that you wanted to learn too,” said Lacerius.

“I didn’t need to, because I am,” he replied. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I pray to the gods for my safe return to Rome and to look after my wife and child until I can join them,” said Lacerius. “Don’t you pray to your gods?”

“I do not,” said Leonard. “ _I don’t have much use for religion. Although the Samhain boar roast is usually a good time for everyone.”_

Lacerius noticed the switch back to his native language, and realised, that yes, he hadn’t been taught how to say that yet.

“ _Did you lose someone close to you? Like Raymond did? Is that why you don’t pray to your gods?_ ”

Leonard gave him a steely stare. “ _Your people took my sister from me.”_

“ _Raymond said that you’re of the Meltasi. I wasn’t aware that Venta Medi had been taken by my people,_ ” he said.

“ _It hasn’t. Bartolo’s pretty smart and I doubt he’ll ever give the Romans cause, unlike Oliver and his posturing. My sister isn’t dead. She’s one of your slaves. A fate worse than death.”_

Lacerius frowned. Something wasn’t quite right here. “ _If the town wasn’t captured by Rome, how did your sister come to be enslaved?_ ”

Leonard gave him a look that was pure ice. The man had a stare that could freeze a person’s very soul. “ _This conversation is over_.”

Leonard turned away and went back to the entrance of the cave where he stood guard for the entire night, and he didn’t say a further word.

Lacerius couldn’t quite work out the man. Every time he thought he understood who he was, the guardsman had a habit of shifting into some new person. He’d already proven that he wasn’t simply a thug, he was too smart for that, and apparently he was just as compassionate and human as anyone. He was still happy to wield his fists when he felt Lacerius wasn’t co-operating, but it was considerably less frequent now than it had been. It had also been that way ever since he’d witnessed Lacerius playing with the orphans, and he wasn’t quite sure what had changed that day, but something had.

Lacerius frowned, he kissed the small picture of Miranda and Jonas, and tucked it away in his belt. The ache in his heart was still there, every time he looked at it, but he would not forget them, and to be honest he deserved that ache. He had promised to keep them safe and failed. He couldn’t even keep himself safe at the moment. He settled down to sleep, stealthily checking that the knife was still under the soil where he had buried it. His fingers dug into the loose earth and were reassured when he found the iron blade. It was still there, and it wouldn’t be long before he’d be able to find a way out of here.

***

He awoke gradually and once again to Gideon making something in a pot over the fire. This time it smelt better than nettle leaves.

“ _If you want breakfast then you need to agree to help Raymond today_ ,” said Gideon, seeing that he was awake.

“ _I had assumed as much_ ,” said Lacerius. “ _And you already know my answer to that_.”

“ _I do_ ,” said Gideon. “ _But I had hoped that you would have changed your mind. I’ll have to arrange further punishments if you don’t give in soon._ ”

“ _Your previous punishment only works once, though, doesn’t it?_ ” said Lacerius. “ _You can’t shock me with it twice._ ”

“ _No, but there are many other punishments that I have at my disposal. As the tribe’s druid, I am responsible for judging the correct punishment for a crime,_ ” she said.

“ _I thought that Hasta would mete out justice_ ,” said Lacerius.

“ _Justice is the province of the gods_ ,” said Gideon. “ _You must worship your own gods, I would have thought you would know this_.”

Lacerius shrugged. “ _The gods of Rome are not known for their fairness. They do as they wish and play with us mortals for their amusement._ ” He then murmured in Latin. “Diana, forgive me.”

Gideon’s eyebrows rose. “ _And yet you still worship them_.”

“ _Perhaps I can persuade them not to play with me and to choose some other unfortunate soul_ ,” replied Lacerius. “ _So far I have been disappointingly unsuccessful at that_.”

He shook off the blanket, and stood, shuffling out of the cave, where he was once more accompanied by his guards to the latrine and back. He washed and came to sit with Gideon by the fire. She was eating what appeared to be porridge, and handed him a second bowl that he gratefully accepted.

" _I thought I wasn't getting breakfast,_ " he said, eating quickly in case she changed her mind.

" _I won't let on that I broke the rules if you don't,_ " she said. " _Don't expect it to happen again though_."

Lacerius nodded. Gideon was often kind for him for no good reason. It just seemed to be in her nature. She removed the porridge pot from the fire and was once again brewing some kind of potion. It wasn’t the same as the nettle tea that she’d made on previous days.

She held up a leaf and a flower for him to see. “ _Elderflower and mint_ ,” she said.

He nodded, taking in the unfamiliar words that attached to familiar things. “ _I see. Freshly picked, I assume_.”

“ _Indeed, and good for keeping colds away_ ,” she said. She poured the infusion into two cups.

“ _Why are you being nice to me_?” he asked, as she pushed one of the cups towards him.

“ _If I was being nice to you then I’d be removing your ropes_ ,” said Gideon.

“ _Nicer than the others, then,_ ” said Lacerius. “ _You’ve made me tea every morning now."_

“ _Because that and the porridge might be the only thing you get today_ ,” said Gideon. “ _And we do need you alive at least.”_

“ _Purely out of necessity then?_ ” he asked, watching as she drank from her cup. He picked up his own and sipped it.

“ _Of course. You’re still a Roman,_ ” said Gideon.

“ _Ah, I suppose my people killed your family too_ ,” said Lacerius, looking downwards.

“ _Yes, although it was a very long time ago,_ ” said Gideon. “ _Long before you ever picked up a sword, I would think. My scars are less recent than those of Ray, Sara and Leonard._ ”

“ _Which is why you can tolerate my presence more easily?_ ” he asked.

“ _Perhaps, although as a follower of Sulis, I protect life, which includes yours. The difficulty comes when protecting your life endangers others, and I will not let you hurt my tribe,_ ” said Gideon.

“ _I see. This is why you tended to my cuts and made sure I ate,_ ” said Lacerius. “ _It was in service to your god._ ”

“ _That wasn’t the only reason. Our civilisation my not be Roman, but we are a civilised people. I don’t like to see people suffer, even Romans,_ ” said Gideon.

Lacerius raised his eyebrows. “ _So, you hate me as much as the others?_ ”

“ _I don’t hate you. I dislike what you are,”_ said Gideon. “ _The sacred groves at Ynys Mon were destroyed by Romans. It is hard to forget that._ ”

“ _Were you at_ Mona _, uh, Ynys Mon?_ ” he asked, suddenly wondering if that was something that she had witnessed, and also aware that he was hoping desperately that she hadn’t.

Gideon shook her head. “ _No, I was already with the Untaridi. I got word that all my friends were dead, and I did not understand why they would do such a thing. The druids were no threat to the Romans. We’re a religious order of peaceful priests and priestesses._ ”

She sounded unbelievably sad, and Lacerius felt his guilt weigh down upon him. He put his tea on the ground.

“ _It was my Legion, the Twentieth,_ ” said Lacerius, the words catching in his throat. “ _I was there. I said you could not blame me for the_ orfanae _because I wasn’t there. This… this you can blame me for._ ” He raised a finger in gesture.

Gideon had become still.

“ _The druids were uniting the tribes_ ,” said Lacerius, hating himself for offering an explanation, but for some reason the words tumbled from his mouth. It was as if he cared what this woman thought of him, which was definitely not the case. “ _They were inciting rebellion and passing intelligence on the movements of our men between the tribes. They had to be dealt with_.”

“ _You killed them_ ,” she said, with horror and distress in her voice. “ _Every single one of them_.”

“ _Yes, we did_ ,” admitted Lacerius, his voice leaden. He couldn’t meet her eyes, so he looked into the fire, hoping to find something, anything, there to make this conversation easier.

“ _And you_?” she asked, the emotion behind her question barely disguised. Her tone vibrated with carefully controlled anger. “ _How many did you personally kill?_ ”

He shook his head. He honestly didn’t remember. It had been a pitched battle between a tenacious foe who knew the ground well and his own troops. He’d fought alongside his men, as he always did. However, he didn’t think Gideon would like that answer.

“ _Five or six_ , _maybe_ ,” he said, deliberately exaggerating. Two or three might have been more realistic, but it was battle. If he hadn’t fought then he’d have died and he wasn’t ready not to fight back yet.

Gideon was now disturbingly calm. It was the kind of calm that could only hide a deep fury. He saw the slap coming and didn’t do anything to stop it. The sting on his cheek was somehow a comfort to him now. At the time, he’d been fighting in the service of his Emperor and the ideals of Rome, but the druids had been outnumbered and their weapons had been primitive. It could never have been called a fair fight.

“ _I was beginning to think you might be different_ ,” said Gideon, and stood, backing away from Lacerius. “ _But you’re a murderer just like all Romans._ ”

Lacerius hung his head. “ _Yes, I am, but I’m sorry about your friends. If I could undo my part in that day then I would._ ”

“ _Finish your breakfast. You have work to get to_ ,” she said, and left.

He felt a sense of self-loathing wash over him. He was suddenly ashamed of his status as a soldier of Rome. He had killed Gideon’s friends and people that she considered as close as family. He was disappointed that she hadn’t hit him harder. He deserved it after all.

He shook his head. He couldn’t continue to allow himself such sentimentality. He needed to get away from these people. They were turning him into something that he didn’t want to be and bringing up emotions that he never wanted to experience. He reminded himself that it was barbarians such as these that had killed Miranda and Jonas.

He looked back towards his blankets and the hidden knife. He would find a way to escape, and it would be tonight. He’d spent far too much time here.

***

There was only one way that Lacerius could think of to get out of the hillfort, and that was to go over one of the wooden walls. He knew where he could find rope, and he spent the day identifying the best area of wall to attempt his plan. The part of the hillfort behind the cave was easily the least well defended and lowest, which was convenient for him.

He waited until darkness had fallen and several hours had passed. He carefully uncovered his knife and sawed through his ropes. His hands and legs were now free and he would be able to run. First he had to deal with his guards, neither of which were Leonard or Mick tonight, thankfully. He stowed the knife at his belt, tucking it through a loop to secure it, and moved towards the cave entrance as quietly as he could manage. He picked up one of Gideon’s pots.

There were two guards, one was walking about outside the entrance. The other was sat in the entrance looking out at the night. It presented Lacerius with a perfect target. He hit the guard over the head with the pot and the man collapsed to the ground with a sigh. One down and without much noise at all. The second would be more difficult. He was currently walking away from his partner, and if Lacerius was careful then he could take two steps and be on him.

He was glad to have bare feet for once and he stalked his prey easily. He jumped the second guard, putting a hand over his mouth and pulling an arm around his neck to choke him. The guard struggled, but had been taken entirely by surprise. He too went down, passed out from lack of oxygen.

Lacerius breathed out a sigh of relief. He returned to the cave and grabbed one of his blankets. The nights here got cold and he had no idea how far he was from the fort. He might need to sleep rough for a couple of nights and he’d need the extra layer. He rolled the blanket up, tied the ends with a rope and slung it over his shoulder. He would have taken any food, had there been any, but there wasn’t, so he’d just have to hope that he could catch something or survive on berries.

He retrieved the rope from where some helpful person had left it hung on their house wall the previous day, and headed for the wall. He could see the torches flickering, and he aimed for the area of shadow between the two sets of torches. There were men patrolling the wall, but not many and all he had to do was wait for them to be away from where he was. He tied a lasso into the rope and swung it upwards, hoping for it to catch on one of the wooden posts that made up the wall. It took him several tries, but he did hook the rope over the wall on the fifth go. He pulled it tight and climbed up, having to wait for a moment half way up, pressed against the wall, as one of the patrolling guards came close.

He got to the top of the wall, and hauled himself up onto the walkway there, just as he heard shouts from behind him. Probably one of his guards had awoken and raised the alarm. He quickly pulled up the rope and then realised that he had a problem. The other side of the wall had a trench at the bottom, filled with spikes. Roman forts often used the same tactic, but filled the trench with pitch that could then be set alight to deter enemies. However, his plan to simply throw the rope over the other side of the wall and climb down, wouldn’t work. The rope was several feet too short and he’d probably break an ankle if he tried to drop the last bit, or end up impaled on a spike. His escape attempt would come to a very rapid end if that were the case.

But there was a way down further along the wall where the trench rose to meet the road into the hillfort. The problem was that several members of the Untaridi stood between him and the gate. He had been avoiding going anywhere near the gate for this very reason. More torches were being lit in the town and he was running out of time. Soon the whole hillfort would be awake and searching for him. He no longer had a choice. He was going to have to fight his way out.

He retrieved the rope and moved down the walkway towards the gate. Unfortunately coming in the other direction was Mick, with a flaming torch in his hand.

Lacerius cursed in Latin for a change. “Bollocks!” He turned around to go back the other way, not fancying his chances against the well-muscled Briton, and came face to face with Leonard, walking towards him. The glow of the torches from the wall cast deep shadows and made both men look rather unnatural and menacing.

“Well this’ll be fun,” said Leonard, in quite passable Latin. He was being taunted in Latin now. “ _How did you get out?”_

Lacerius drew the knife from his belt and backed up against the parapet, so that he could see both Mick and Leonard. He didn’t stand chance against the two of them and he knew it, but he wasn’t going down without at least an attempt at a fight.

Mick moved towards him, waving the torch in his direction. Lacerius jumped backwards in Leonard’s direction, slashing out at the guardsman with his knife and then at Mick.

“ _Alive, Mick_ ,” said Leonard. “ _No killing!_ ”

“ _No fun,_ ” said Mick.

Lacerius found himself rushed by both Mick and Leonard, and pushed to the ground. A punch found his jaw, and although he got a couple in of his own, he stood no chance.

“ _Just let me go!_ ” shouted Lacerius. “ _I thought you wanted rid of me._ ”

“ _Raymond will be all disappointed if we don’t bring his pet back,_ ” said Leonard. “ _Now shut up before I decide that you’re right, and we just shove you over the wall, swilla._ ”

Lacerius took the hint and shut his mouth. His escape attempt had failed and there would be consequences to that. There was no point in fighting further now.

***

Leonard and Mick dragged Lacerius into the presence of the Queen, without waiting for him to gain his feet. Raymond and Gideon had been awoken and entered moments after Lacerius had been thrown to the ground. He picked himself up and tried to stand, but Leonard and Mick took a shoulder each and pushed him into a kneeling position.

“ _You utter idiot!_ ” shouted Sara. “ _We take you in, we give you food and shelter. We treated you well, and now I’m going to have to order you to be punished because you were stupid enough to try to escape. And if I don’t I’ll look weak in front of my people_.”

“ _It was my duty as a Roman to try to escape. You can’t expect me to lay down without a fight…_ ” began Lacerius.

“ _Quiet! Do not try to justify what you have done. People were hurt_ ,” said Sara. “ _How did this happen?_ ”

“ _He knocked out a guard and choked the other one. They’ll be okay but one has quite the bump on his head, and the other’s going to need some of Gideon’s poppy and willow tonic for his sore throat,”_ said Leonard. “ _The swilla had Raymond’s knife on him, so I’m going to take a guess and say he stole the knife, used it to cut his ropes_.”

“ _Oh,_ ” said Raymond. “ _I was wondering what I’d done with that_.”

“ _Ray!”_ said Sara with exasperation. “ _You need to be more careful around him. You can’t forget that he’s a Roman._ ”

“ _I know. I’m sorry. But_ _you can’t punish him,_ ” said Raymond. “ _It’ll invalidate everything that we’ve been trying to do._ ”

 _“He’s forced my hand. Gideon will rule on what the punishment should be._ ”

The druid moved forwards until she stood beside Leonard. She looked at the prisoner, and spoke. Lacerius’ heart sank slightly. Gideon had every reason to hand down the worst punishment possible. She now knew the Lacerius had been part of the deaths of the Druids at Ynys Mon.

“ _The Code says that a runaway slave should be flogged_ ,” said Gideon, and to Lacerius’ surprise she sounded reluctant to give up the information. “ _Twenty lashes is the minimum punishment_.”

“ _Is that your ruling?_ ” asked Sara.

“ _Yes,_ ” said Gideon, although there was the slightest pause before she said the word.

Lacerius frowned. That was a light sentence. One hundred lashes was considered to be a death sentence, but Roman commanders rarely ordered anything less than thirty, and he was surprised Gideon hadn’t said fifty.

“ _Very well, take him to the temple post and flog him. Leonard, I know you were enthusiastic for the job_ ,” said Sara, she didn’t sound much happier about it than Gideon did. Even Leonard didn’t look that happy, and Lacerius was baffled. “ _And get Martin to make him a pair of leg irons. Clearly we haven’t taken him seriously enough_.”

“ _No, wait_ ,” said Raymond. “ _This is my fault. It was my knife he took. I should bear the punishment_.”

Lacerius couldn’t believe what the Briton had just said. “ _No!_ ” he shouted, and tried to get up, but was pushed back down. He struggled, but knew it wouldn’t get him anywhere. “ _You can’t. It wasn’t his fault!_ ”

Sara turned towards Lacerius with anger and then looked up at Leonard. “ _Gag the slave before he says something stupid and I decide it’s easier to just kill him._ ”

“ _It’ll be my pleasure_ ,” said Leonard, and Lacerius found a piece of cloth forced between his jaws and then tied at the back of his head. He glared at Leonard.

Sara was shaking her head. “ _You’ve protected him enough, Ray_.”

Raymond was also shaking his head though. “ _Look, someone needs to be punished. The law has to be upheld, but I brought him here and I was careless with my knife. He’s right, we should have expected this. He is a Roman, and we can’t change him overnight. His punishment can be to tend to my wounds afterwards._ ”

“ _Raymond…_ ” said Leonard, with warning. “ _Don’t be stupid._ ”

Sara raised her eyebrows. “ _Twenty lashes will hurt like hell, Ray. Are you sure you’re willing to take those for a Roman slave?_ ”

Raymond nodded. “ _I have to. If we hurt him now…_ ”

“ _There’s such a thing as taking a plan too far, Raymond,_ ” said Leonard.

“ _You’re a moron_ ,” added Mick. “ _Let the swilla take the fall_.”

Lacerius tried to protest again, but the gag made everything come out as a muffled “mmh!” and Leonard and Mick were keeping him firmly on his knees.

“ _Gideon? Is it allowed for Raymond to take the punishment of a slave?_ ” asked Sara.

Gideon looked even less happy now, if that were possible. She nodded with reticence. “ _Anyone may offer to take the punishment of another, but this is very unusual. The one who was sentenced must be there and witness the punishment._ ”

Sara looked at Gideon. “ _And I am bound to grant the request?_ ”

Gideon shook her head. “ _No, but you should only deny it if it is unreasonable in some way, for example it seems that there is coercion of some kind, or the other party is too infirm to withstand punishment._ ”

“ _Then I guess it seems reasonable,_ ” said Sara, with a shrug.

“ _You’re not the one who has to do the flogging,_ ” said Leonard.

Sara raised her eyebrows. “ _Actually, on this occasion, I think I am,_ ” she replied. “ _I allowed Raymond to bring him here and all his poison with it. I’m going to take responsibility for this.”_

“ _Are we holding this stupidity now?_ ” asked Leonard, sounding on edge.

“ _Tomorrow morning, at first light,_ ” said Sara. Leonard made to pull Lacerius to his feet, but Sara stopped him. “ _I’ll guard Hunter tonight. Leave him here. I’ll need more ropes until Martin can make those leg irons._ ”

“ _I’ll get them,_ ” said Mick, and left the room.

“ _The rest of you, get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a bad day for everyone,_ ” said Sara.

The Britons filed out of the room, not one of them suggesting that Sara would need any help with her prisoner. The Queen was already playing with a knife, that she put away when Mick returned with the ropes. He helped her to tie Lacerius up in the style of a hunted boar, his hands and feet wrapped together at one point, leaving him entirely incapable of movement. It was extremely uncomfortable, but Lacerius was unsurprised. He’d tried to escape. They weren’t going to grant him mercy now. They didn’t remove the gag either, so he lay on his side on the floor of the Queen’s main room in her roundhouse and slept fitfully, wondering how his life had come to this.

Sara sat just over an arm’s length away from him and looked at him with undisguised anger. She didn’t rest at all during the night and every time he woke, she was there, her attention unwavering. It was unsettling to say the least. The warrior queen of the Untaridi was something to behold and he doubted he would enjoy her continued anger at him.

He didn’t want them to hurt Ray for his crimes. It wasn’t fair or right. He’d wanted to escape, that was all, and if he’d had his way, he’d have been long gone by now. Regrettably, Fortuna was against him once again. However, the mistake had been his and his alone. He had stolen the knife and tried to leave. He should be the one who was punished.

By the time morning came, he was fatigued from his poor night’s sleep and the guilt had settled into a dark mass in his chest and was threatening to eat him from the inside out. Sara untied his ropes enough that she could walk him to the temple in the centre of the town and pulled him to his feet. She poured water from a jug into a cup, and finally, she also untied his gag.

“ _Please, don’t do this,_ ” said Lacerius, not even bidding her good morning first.

“ _Drink, swilla_ ,” she said, and held the cup to his mouth.

“ _Really, I thought we were past insults,_ ” said Lacerius, but he drank the water, because he _was_ thirsty and it had been a long night.

“ _That was before you forced me into hurting a friend,_ ” said Sara, letting him drink about half the cup before she removed it.

“ _Then don’t hurt him. I’m the one who committed the crime. You don’t have to let Raymond take my place,”_ said Lacerius.

“ _That’s up to him,_ ” replied Sara. “ _He has good reasons for doing this, and maybe it’ll make you realise that your actions have a price. I’m beginning to get the impression that this might actually hurt you more than if we’d just given you the lashes._ ”

“ _This isn’t about my concern for Raymond. It’s about justice. He did nothing wrong,_ ” said Lacerius.

“ _I know,_ ” said Sara.

“ _Then why, by the gods, are you letting him do this?!_ ” He didn’t shout, but he did raise his voice.

“ _Because I trust Raymond,_ ” said Sara. “ _That’s the end of the matter, Hunter. I won’t be so accommodating of his requests if you try to run away a second time._ ”

“ _I don’t belong here_ ,” spat Lacerius. “ _I’m a Roman. It’s my duty to return to my Legion. If our situations were reversed then you’d be doing exactly what I am._ ”

“ _Probably_ ,” said Sara. “ _and that’s why I didn’t just order your execution. But you’re the invaders. You came to our land and tried to take it from us. I’m just protecting my home._ ”

Lacerius shook his head. “ _I am civilising the country under Roman rule. The people of Britannia will benefit in the end._ ”

“ _You can’t seriously believe that_ ,” replied Sara, with a bitter laugh.

“ _But I do_ ,” said Lacerius. “ _If you’d seen the glory that is Rome, you’d understand._ ”

Sara gave him an unimpressed look. “ _Maybe we don’t want your kind of civilisation. I like my tribe and our ways. They work for us and we’re happy with what we have. All you Romans do is take._ ”

“ _That is rich coming from you. You have taken everything that makes me who I am. You’ve removed my uniform, my insignia of rank, you took my sword, and you refuse to use my given name; yet you stand there and expect me to bow my head and do as I’m told._ ” He would have gestured with his hands but they were currently bound behind his back.

“ _Indeed I do, because you’re now one of my subjects,_ ” said Sara. “ _You will follow my orders and our laws, and that is the end of it. You aren’t in charge of your Century anymore and we are not Romans. I am the Queen of this tribe and you will do as I say._ ”

She replaced the gag in his mouth with a force that definitely wasn’t necessary. He looked at her with angry eyes.

“ _Move,_ ” she said, and with a push he shuffled forwards.

Gideon, Raymond, Leonard, Mick and half the town were already gathered at the temple. Sara pushed Lacerius towards Leonard.

“ _Make sure he watches,_ ” she said.

Leonard nodded but said nothing. His mouth was set in a hard line. Lacerius felt himself pushed to his knees again, but this time he didn’t resist.

“ _Let everyone present be aware that this man, Raymond, son of Arecacea, is taking the punishment for Hunter, the Roman slave. He does it of his own free choice, and because he allowed the slave to take his knife. He will be given twenty lashes and then the slave will tend his wounds until he is fit again,_ ” said Sara, to the assembled tribe. “ _Is this in accordance with the Code of the tribe, Gideon?_ ”

“ _It is and Sulis gives it her blessing,_ ” said Gideon. She was dressed in her ceremonial robes and wore a wreath of green leaves on her head.

“ _Strip him to the waist and tie him up,_ ” said Sara, with a gesture to Mick to do as she said.

Mick and Gideon assisted Raymond with removing his tunic, and Mick tied his wrists and then attached them to the hook on the pole. It was one of the poles that held up the green thatched roof of the temple and would stay firm no matter how Raymond pulled on it. Gideon and Raymond seemed to have a short conversation, but Lacerius couldn’t hear the details. She then provided him with a small piece of wood to bite down upon and he dutifully took it in his mouth. Raymond was surprisingly unemotional given what was about to happen. He gave both Gideon and Mick a nod, indicating that he was ready, the picture of stoic dignity. Lacerius had never seen such an amicable flogging.

Sara’s eyes were harsh, but Lacerius saw a slight tremor in her hand as she picked up the whip. The Queen was outwardly calm, but Lacerius was aware that she was hiding her real emotions about this. She had been entirely correct when she’d described today as a bad one for everyone.

Lacerius had seen many floggings in his time. He had even given out some, when he had been a lowly Optio. He had never felt like he did now about any of them. There was a constriction in his chest, a feeling of painful guilt and misery. He wanted to turn away as Sara readied the whip and placed the first bright red streak across Raymond’s back, but he didn’t. He owed it to the Briton to watch this, even if he would have preferred not to. Sara seemed to be skilled with the whip which was a blessing in disguise, the whip wouldn’t curl back and dig out more chunks of flesh. Raymond grunted, his back arching inwards.

Sara didn’t wait, and struck again, counting out the required lashes in rapid succession. She probably realised that it was better to get it over with swiftly than to draw it out. Each one laid another red slice across Raymond’s back and his grunts became louder and more pained. He lost his footing and hung by his wrists on the tenth, but found his feet again, strength coming from somewhere. Sara hesitated momentarily, but continued on with determination. The new red marks crossed over the old, opening deep wounds. Finally, with blood pouring down Raymond’s back, she reached twenty and suddenly it was over.

Lacerius let out a sigh of utter relief. He couldn’t identify what he was feeling anymore. His emotions were bleeding into one another and losing their boundaries. He disliked what the Untaridi had done and allowed to be done, but he could only blame himself for what had just happened. He also felt a bizarre sense of gratitude towards Raymond, that he would put himself in Lacerius’ place like that.

Mick didn’t bother to untie Raymond, he just cut the ropes and then caught him as his legs gave out. Jax came forwards and, between the two of them, they half carried and half dragged Raymond towards the cave. Leonard pulled Lacerius to his feet and propelled him in the same direction, without a word.

Sara gave him a look as he passed. She coiled the whip, and held out a hand to stop him for a second.

“ _That was you only chance, Hunter,_ ” said Sara. “ _Next time it’ll be you on the whipping post and it’ll be forty, not twenty._ ”

He met her eyes and nodded. He understood and he owed Raymond a debt now. Raymond, who had never hurt him, and had saved his life by persuading the Untaridi not to kill him. A new emotion stirred inside him. He realised that he felt shame. He was ashamed that he had been the cause of Raymond’s pain, and he had no idea what to do with that feeling. Leonard shoved him onwards towards the cave and he knew he was being expected to take care of the flogged Briton. Perhaps he could redeem himself in that.

***AD 59***

They gave him an armilla for capturing Chief Savage, a silver bracelet that was awarded only to the valiant. The inscription on it read “for courage” and could not have been less accurate in his opinion. He wore it once for the victory parade at the fort and then put it away. He didn’t have any use for military honours anymore. They were meaningless to him.

His father called him to his quarters before he left to return to Rome for a couple of months. He expected to be back with the army in the spring.

“Agrippa, Spinosus knows what you did and so do I,” said Drusus. “You are playing a very dangerous game, and I suggest you step away from it.”

“He killed my wife and child. I was owed my vengeance,” said Lacerius.

“Perhaps, but you went against the will of the senate and that will close more doors for you than it will open. Any hopes you had of returning to Rome and taking up a position in public life are effectively over. The senate will not officially reprimand you, but everyone is aware of what the orders were and what actually happened,” said Drusus. “You have also damaged my name, and I had hoped that you thought better of me than to do that.”

Lacerius let out a long sigh. “I am sorry for that. I didn’t want to harm you or bring you dishonour, but you have to understand why I did it. I couldn’t let him go unpunished.”

Drusus shook his head tiredly. “You have always been stubborn. Chief Savage is of value to Rome and I doubt he will see punishment in the way that you want.”

Lacerius frowned, giving a slight shake of his own head. “I don’t understand. Surely he’ll be put on public trial, imprisoned in the tullianum and executed during the victory celebrations.”

Drusus looked Lacerius directly in the eye. “His father was a Roman. He’s a bastard of the Julian line, although they’ve never admitted whose. He’s been funnelling slaves and gold to Rome for years, as well as acting as a buffer between us and Sarmatia. His surrender will be accepted and he’ll be taken on as a client state of Rome.”

Lacerius was speechless for a moment. “That’s not justice. That’s a mockery of everything that Rome stands for!” He gestured with one hand wildly, his anger rising. “You can’t possibly stand for that!”

“I have no choice. I’m an elected Consul, not a dictator. However, I agree. Our Emperor’s moral courage is rather lacking and too many good men are in your position, Agrippa. A position where there is no way for them to get the justice that they deserve. I have plans to change that, but I need military victories behind me if I am to gain the influence that I need.” Drusus’ eyes were sincere, and somehow dangerous. Lacerius had never seen him like this before.

He gave his father a single nod. “Then I will do my best to help get you those victories.”

“Good,” said Drusus, the darkness in his expression lifting a little. “Because I want Britannia to my name, and I know you’ll be the one to get it for me.”

“I shall certainly try,” said Lacerius. “At least I’ll feel that I’m honouring Miranda and Jonas by it in some small way. Perhaps one day I will get the justice for them that they deserve and Chief Savage will no longer be protected by his friends in Rome.”

“Alas I wouldn’t hold my breath. He might as well be invincible with certain senators on his side,” said Drusus. “But once they are gone, then we’ll see.”

“Good luck,” said Lacerius. “I hope the fates smile upon you, and that I will see you again in Gaul before I depart for Britannia.”

“That is certainly my intention,” said Drusus. “Stay safe, Agrippa. The gods have more plans for you yet.”

Lacerius smiled at his adoptive father, and turned to go with a dip of his head in salute. However, a thought suddenly bothered him, and he stopped in his tracks. He turned back to his father.

“Savage denied it,” said Lacerius.

“Denied what?” asked Drusus.

“That he ordered the deaths of my family,” said Lacerius. “He said that no Vandals were ordered to attack anywhere in Italia. It has been preying upon my mind. Why should he deny it?”

“Who knows why barbarians do anything,” said Drusus. “You can’t trust a man like Savage.”

“It just seems strange. What if it’s true and I’ve been chasing the wrong man all this time?” asked Lacerius.

“It isn’t true,” said Drusus. “You found the weapons yourself. They were Vandal swords and clubs.”

“Perhaps a tad convenient that they left them there,” replied Lacerius. “How many warriors do you know who abandon their weapons at the end of a fight?”

Drusus shrugged. “Perhaps it’s a custom of the Vandals. You’re thinking too hard about this, Agrippa. It was the Vandals and they have been dealt a huge defeat. You should be happy that you’ve honoured the memory of Jonas and Miranda so well.”

Lacerius had an unsettled feeling though. He was beginning to think that things hadn’t added up quite as nicely as he’d previously thought. He was beginning to think that the Vandals actually hadn’t killed his wife and child.

He left his father’s quarters and returned to sword drills with his men, thinking over Drusus’ words.

He found himself angry though. He had wanted Savage to be punished, even if he wasn’t the one that killed Miranda and Jonas, even if he wasn’t even the one who had ordered it. He had needed Savage to be punished so that he could draw a line under their deaths and have any hope of moving on with his life. He’d felt empty after he’d captured Savage, but now, the emptiness was still there, and the grief and loneliness of knowing his family were dead, but he was also now experiencing deep uncertainty. He had thought he’d gained justice for them, and instead Savage would not be punished and he was suddenly unsure if he was even the one responsible.

But if he couldn’t have justice for Miranda and Jonas then he would at least improve things for others. He would serve not only Rome, but also his father and his attempts to better their democracy. He would help him to root out corruption by being instrumental in providing the victories that he needed to gain further power in the senate. He already owed his father so much, he could also do this for him.


	5. Abstrahi Liberos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rather late update, but hopefully this answers a few questions.
> 
> Italics are used when the characters are speaking in a language that's foreign to the point of view character.

“in proelio fortiorem esse qui spoliet: nunc ab ignavis plerumque et imbellibus eripi domos, abstrahi liberos, iniungi dilectus, tamquam mori tantum pro patria nescientibus.” Tacitus, Agricola, bk 15

“In war it is the strong who plunders; now, it is for the most part by miserable cowards that our homes are rifled, our children torn from us, the conscription enforced, as though we would face death for any cause except our country.” Tacitus, Agricola, bk 15

***AD 61***

They laid Raymond out in the cave on Lacerius’ blanket, face down. His back was a mess and Lacerius didn’t enjoy seeing it. He also wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. Leonard had dumped his prisoner on the ground and then proceeded to retie his ropes in their previous configuration, except with less give in them. He could barely walk now, only hobble. At least he’d removed the gag at the same time. Leonard walked out of the cave without another word.

Lacerius approached Raymond, who was breathing quickly but shallowly, dropping to his knees beside him.

“ _You’re an idiot,_ ” said Lacerius. “ _Why didn’t you just let them flog me? I deserved it._ ”

“ _If we hurt you, you’ll never trust us_ ,” said Raymond, his voice ragged. “ _A thanks would be nice._ ”

“ _If I say “thank you” you might think it’s a good idea and do something this idiotic again,_ ” said Lacerius. “ _But I will say that you have my gratitude. No one has ever done something quite so ridiculously noble for me, and I know that I’m to blame for the pain that you’re now in. I will faithfully tend to you, I promise._ ” He looked around. “ _We need Gideon. I don’t have the first idea where to start with this, and I don’t want to cause you further pain._ ”

Raymond gave a quiet chuckle. “ _They need to be cleaned and that is going to hurt a lot._ ”

Lacerius nodded. He’d only seen the wounds of flogged men attended to in the most basic ways, usually by having alcohol poured over them. That had often led to shrieks of agony, but he was hoping that Gideon had something better than that. After all, she’d tended to the rope cuts on his arms and legs, and they had healed well and with little pain.

“ _Can we give you some of the same stuff that Gideon gave me for my headache?_ ” he asked.

Raymond nodded. “ _Yes, but it might not be strong enough. Gideon has other things for bad wounds._ ”

Leonard and Gideon returned to the cave just as Raymond finished his sentence, and Leonard carried water. Lacerius looked up.

“ _Get the fire going better_ ,” said Gideon, not directly addressing anyone, but Leonard took it upon himself to do the task. “ _We’ll need hot water._ ”

“Gideon,” started Lacerius, but the druid was already going to the back of the cave.

“ _Do not say a word to me,_ swilla,” said Gideon, turning on him. “ _It’s your fault that I have a friend to tend to._ ”

“ _Actually, it’s mine_ ,” murmured Raymond.

“ _And you should be quiet too_ ,” said Gideon. “ _I’m angry with the both of you._ ” She turned back to her pots, selecting two of them.

Gideon handed one of the pots to Lacerius.

“ _That’s a salve to help the cuts heal and stop them from becoming infected. It’s the same one that I used on your rope burns. You’ll need to wash them first before you can apply it_ ,” she said. “ _Put water on the fire. We’ll need it hot to dissolve the painkilling ingredients_.”

Raymond groaned. “ _Can’t I just have the willow leaf and poppy_?”

Gideon shook her head. “ _It won’t be enough. Cleaning your back is going to be painful_.”

“ _I hate that stuff_ ,” complained Raymond, and grimaced.

“ _Too bad_ ,” replied Gideon.

Lacerius decided that staying quiet was the best option here. He was ashamed of his actions, even though his head told him that it had been Raymond’s choice. He still felt that he should have been the one to be flogged, and right now he would have done anything to be the one with the lash marks on his back. This hurt him in ways that he didn’t want to explore.

Lacerius stoked the fire, put the pot of water on the tripod, and then they waited for it to boil. Lacerius patiently sat by Raymond’s side, while Gideon busied herself with pots and potions. Leonard kept an eye on the water, but most of his attention was on Lacerius.

“I hope you’re pleased with yourself,” said Leonard, in Latin.

“Why would I be pleased?” he replied, in the same language, crossly. “I didn’t want him to be hurt. He’s the only person here who’s never threatened me or raised a hand to me.”

“ _There’s no point speaking Latin, I do understand about half of it,_ ” murmured Raymond. “ _And when did Leonard get so good? Have you been having secret lessons?_ ”

“ _Face it, I’m just better at it than you,_ ” said Leonard, with surprisingly good natured humour.

Lacerius expected him to resume the argument he’d started, but instead the guardsman took a stick to the fire, stirring the embers to make sure it was burning evenly. Raymond closed his eyes and an awkward silence descended once more. Gideon finally decided that the water was at boiling point and ladled some into a bowl, where she began mixing something.

“ _You need to learn to do this_ ,” said Gideon. “ _He will need several doses of medicine against the pain and his wounds cleaning every day to ensure that he does not take a fever_.”

Lacerius nodded. All the fight had left him at the sight of Raymond in pain. He’d had no idea he considered the man to be important to him until now, but he had told him he would take care of him and he wouldn’t back down now. Gideon carefully explained how to make both the medicine and the herbal mixture that she used to clean wounds, and Lacerius listened attentively, asking questions as she went.

Gideon persuaded Raymond to lift his head enough that she could give him some of the medicine that she had just brewed, whilst Lacerius set to cleaning the lash marks.

Raymond groaned with the pain. Leonard looked daggers in Lacerius’ direction.

“I’m sorry,” said Lacerius, automatically. The he realised that he’d spoken in Latin from habit, and said it again in Brittonic. “ _I’m sorry._ ”

“I understood you the first time,” said Raymond. “ _Leonard may be better than me, but I’m not that bad._ ”

Lacerius nodded. “ _Of course. But I am sorry_.”

“ _It’s going to hurt, just get it over with_ ,” said Raymond.

“ _The medicine should begin to work soon_ ,” said Gideon, brushing hair away from Raymond’s slightly sweaty forehead.

It seemed that she wasn’t going to be angry with the inventor for long, despite her earlier words. Lacerius suspected that it would take a lot more time for her to forgive him for being the cause of Raymond’s pain, and that wasn’t even the main reason that she hated him at the moment. He might never be forgiven for his part in the sack of Ynys Mon, and he understood her anger at him.

Lacerius continued his careful cleaning and did his best to ignore the whimpers and sharp intakes of breath from the Briton. Raymond was right, it was better to get it over and done with. The medicine did begin to help, and Raymond fell into a drugged sleep, during which he mumbled words that no one could make out. Under Gideon’s instruction Lacerius applied the healing salve and then wiped away the remains of the blood, and finally covered the wounds with a clean cloth.

“ _He’s ready to be taken back to his house_ ,” said Gideon, addressing Leonard. “ _Hunter will need to go with him. I’ll ensure he has the necessary medicines to hand.”_ She turned back to Lacerius. _“You’ll need to dose him again with the honeysuckle and henbane when he wakes. Don’t give him too much though. No more after that until morning._ ”

“ _I understand,_ ” said Hunter.

“ _You’ll keep an eye on them?_ ” Gideon asked Leonard.

“ _Of course. I’ve got something special waiting for Hunter_ ,” said Leonard, with a glint of malice in his eyes.

“ _The Queen said that he’s to look after Raymond. If you do anything to jeopardise his care…_ ” began Gideon.

“ _Don’t worry, Raymond will be fine_ ,” said Leonard. “ _I just have plans for Hunter_.”

Lacerius didn’t like the sound of that, but he’d made a promise to Raymond and he wouldn’t break it now. At this point he had to accept whatever the consequences of his actions were.

Leonard and Mick picked up the corners of the blanket that Ray was laid on and they carried him the short distance to his home, with another guard prodding Lacerius to follow them. His progress was much slower, with his ankles bound closer together. He fell twice and neither of his guards assisted him with getting back to his feet. By the time he arrived at Raymond’s house, Leonard and Mick were emerging from it.

“ _Bring him_ ,” said Leonard, and the guard now pushed him to move away from Raymond’s house and further into the town.

“ _I don’t understand_ ,” said Lacerius. “ _I’m supposed to look after Raymond_.”

Leonard approached Lacerius with menace in his step. The Roman stiffened. His instinct was to fight or at the very least run, but neither was practical. The look in the guardsman’s eyes suggested nothing but hatred.

“ _If I was you, I’d shut my mouth, because if you don’t, something very bad is going to happen to you. I’ve got three eye witnesses that’ll tell the Queen you tried to run again_ ,” said Leonard. “ _It’s no skin off my nose if you end up with a knife in your chest._ ”

Lacerius snapped his mouth shut on a retort before it could get him killed. His jaw twitched with anger, but he said nothing. They moved onwards and stopped at the forge, where Lacerius was unceremoniously pushed through the door. He landed on the earthen floor, and a boot was placed firmly on his shoulder, preventing him from rising again.

“ _Martin, are they ready?_ ” asked Leonard, of the smith.

The older man nodded. “ _Yes, yes, of course. What do you take me for?_ ”

Jax who was working the bellows, gave Leonard a quick sympathetic look, before he brought over a set of manacles and a set of leg irons. They appeared to be made of iron and were quite sturdy. Lacerius realised what was about to happen next and something broke in him. He could have fought and struggled, but what was the point? They would hold him down and put them on him anyway.

“ _Martin worked all night on these_ ,” said Leonard.

He took his knife and cut the ropes around Lacerius’ wrists and with Jax’s help, they snapped the manacles around his wrists. They held his arms out along the ground, above his head. Martin then approached with red-hot rivets that were pushed into the hole on the flat plate that stuck out from the side of the band around the wrists. He sealed the manacles shut with a pair of large pliers, and Lacerius realised that the only way to get these chains off would be to return to the forge. The finality of it was oppressive. He felt the heat of the rivets as they cooled, although they were just far enough away not to burn. The same procedure was repeated with the leg irons.

Finally, they let go of him and pulled him to his feet. His new chains were heavier than his ropes, and pulled his hands down.

“ _Now you look like a proper slave_ ,” said Mick, and Lacerius felt his skin burn with shame. The Briton was right. He looked like a slave because he was one and there was very little he could do about it.

“ _No wise cracks? No Latin insults?_ ” asked Leonard. “ _I’m disappointed_.”

Lacerius shook his head. “ _Take me to Raymond. He will probably be needing me._ ”

“ _Bring the sack, Mick_ ,” said Leonard.

Mick did as asked, and picked up the sack. It had a metallic clink to it as they escorted their prisoner back to Raymond’s home. The injured man had been placed on the wooden framed cot that sat to one side of the room, and he seemed to be sleeping peacefully enough. Gideon’s medicines were positioned by the fire, ready for Lacerius to make use of as needed.

Mick dropped the sack on the floor and Leonard took out the length of metal chain that had been hidden inside it, a hammer and an eyelet. Lacerius watched as Leonard threaded the chain through the eyelet and then hammered the eyelet into one of the sturdy posts that supported the roof. Mick pushed Lacerius in the direction of the post, and Leonard attached an open link to the chains that ran through his manacles. He hammered the link closed, and Lacerius found himself trying to calculate how far he could now move, not that it mattered. He certainly couldn’t make it to the door. He had enough length to reach Raymond on his bed and to move between there and the fire.

“ _I’ll take first shift_ ,” said Leonard, to Mick. “ _Do you mind taking the tools back to the forge?_ ”

“ _No, I’ll do it on the way_ ,” replied Mick.

“ _If there’s anything interesting in the scout reports…_ ”

“ _I’ll come straight back,_ ” said Mick, with a knowing look as he finished the sentence.

“ _Thank you, my friend_ ,” said Leonard.

Lacerius thought that there was something significant about that exchange, but he didn’t have the necessary information to work out what that might be. His world had narrowed to become a rather sickly Briton, about 5ft of chain and anything that he could reach within that restriction. He wasn’t sure if there was any further down for him to go from here, although he expected the Fates would find a way to prove him wrong in that.

Leonard took a seat by the door and Lacerius moved over to Raymond to see how he was doing. He still mumbled somewhat incoherently, but he seemed about as well as he could be. He turned back towards the hearth and went to stoke the fire. He would make bread and then at least Raymond would have something to eat if he felt up to it.

Leonard said nothing and simply watched the Roman slave as he began the day's chores, as he had done on several occasions previously, only now hampered by leg irons and manacles. If he was careful then he could manage, but the cloth bindings that Gideon had wrapped around his wrists previously to stop the ropes from biting into his skin weren’t wide enough to stop the metal from rubbing. He ignored the pain, he deserved it really, and tried to continue his tasks.

He made the bread and put it to one side to cool. The light suggested it was now nearing mid-afternoon. Raymond stirred in his sleep and cried out. It was probably time for another dose of Gideon’s medicine. He gathered the ingredients and prepared it exactly as he’d been shown, noting Leonard’s eyes on him as he did so. He took the cup to the Briton and after a little coaxing, he drank all of it, falling back asleep again. He would try to get him to eat before the next dose.

He looked down at the dark grey metal encircling his wrists. He wasn’t a Centurion anymore, he didn’t command men or fight battles. He was not a sword of Rome, simply awaiting his opportunity to return to his Legion. He was a slave of the Untaridi, chained and broken, with no hope of rescue. Sometimes there really was no way out of a situation. Perhaps it was time that he just accepted his fate.

***

Raymond didn’t remember a lot about the first full day after his flogging. He was taking one of Gideon’s stronger painkilling potions, and it gave him bizarre dreams. Sometimes they were closer to nightmares, as he relived the night that his beloved Anna was killed, and he failed to save her. He was able to take less of the strong medicine the following day though and everything became clearer. In many ways, he wished that it hadn’t.

He’d managed to move onto his side, and he gradually realised that someone was trying to get him to eat some bread.

“Just a little,” said the voice, accented and with strange pronunciation. “I made it fresh this morning and you didn’t eat anything yesterday. I know it hurts to move, but you have to keep your strength up.”

He stared blearily at his helper and the fog began to clear. “Hunter?”

“Yes, now please, eat,” said Hunter.

Raymond accepted the bread, and nibbled on it. His stomach objected even to this, but past experience told him to persevere. He looked at Hunter, and took in the chains that clinked and the red marks and dried blood around his wrists. He also didn’t look like he’d had much sleep.

“Sara carried out her threat about the chains,” he said.

Hunter gave a small, rather ashamed nod.

“I’m sorry,” said Raymond.

“I tried to escape. If I was a slave in Rome then my masters would have done far worse,” said Hunter, almost too quietly for him to hear. There was a pause, and then even more quietly, one word was added. “Master.”

It took Ray a little time to work out that he was being addressed with the title, and his eyes widened. He shook his head and did his best to push himself up, but failing as his healing back pulled and pain shot across it. He groaned, and Hunter put out a hand to steady him as he rested on his side again.

“No, no, no, I don’t want you to call me that,” said Raymond.

“But I am your slave. I should address you properly,” said Hunter. His head was bowed, and he wasn’t looking anywhere except at the ground.

“Raymond is fine,” he replied. “No one has to call anyone “master” in Venta Untaridi.” Sara had made that very clear. All the Untaridi were equals in the sight of the Queen. “You need better bandages for your wrists. You can find some cloth in the wooden chest to your left. Have you got some of Gideon’s salve to hand? It’ll help.”

Hunter nodded, but didn’t move.

“I’ll eat while you tend to your wrists and ankles,” said Raymond, with encouragement. “If you give me a moment, I’ll help.”

“I’m supposed to be taking care of _you_ ,” said Hunter.

“And you are,” replied Raymond. “But you can’t work if you’re in pain.”

Finally, the Roman moved and somewhat lethargically began to search for fresh cloth in the chest that Raymond had suggested.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” asked Raymond.

“A little,” replied Hunter.

Raymond looked around the room, expecting to see blankets or perhaps a temporary cot set up, but there was nothing.

“ _Where_ did you sleep?”

Hunter looked at the floor beside Raymond’s cot, where a single blanket had been folded up.

“You slept on the floor beside me?”

Hunter nodded and turned back to his task, finally pulling out several strips of cloth. Raymond watched as he undid the old bindings, used water to wash the cuts and abrasions left by the metal and then applied Gideon’s salve. He had to work around the manacles and leg irons, moving them up or down his limbs with what little give they had. Raymond noted that they had no release mechanism and had been rivetted closed. For some reason, he felt the first stirrings of anger in him at that. Hunter was a slave, but the chains were heavy and unnecessary. This wasn’t what Raymond had wanted.

“Let me help,” he said, as Hunter tried to use his left hand to wrap his right wrist. He didn’t have the manual dexterity to accomplish the task.

“I can do it,” replied Hunter, crossly.

“I know, but it would be easier with another pair of hands,” said Raymond.

Hunter let out a long sigh and moved close enough to Raymond’s bed that he could reach him. He presented his right wrist, and as gently as he could, Raymond wrapped the cloth around it.

“Lily came with a message from Gideon,” said Hunter. “She said that you can try the poppy and willow leaf now, rather than the stronger stuff. I have some if you’d like it.”

Raymond nodded. “Gideon knows I hate the Honeysuckle and Henbane, although I’m guessing she’s not too happy with me right now if she sent Lily.”

“With both of us,” said Hunter. “I fear I have given her ample reason.”

He shuffled away towards the fire, and returned with a cup of something bitter that Raymond recognised as Gideon’s poppy and willow leaf infusion. He finally noticed that Hunter’s chains didn’t just link his wrists and ankles, but also attached to the wall. He was going to have words with Leonard, because he was fairly certain that this was Leonard’s doing.

“Have you eaten?” Raymond asked.

Hunter shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

Raymond sighed internally. It appeared that neither he nor Hunter were doing well today.

“Take some of the bread,” he said. “You’re no good to me if you keel over from hunger.”

“I’ll eat later,” replied Hunter, and Raymond supposed he would just have to accept that.

“Why did you pick today to call me “master”? You’ve never done that before. I doubt you’ve ever even thought of it before. I’m pretty certain that you’ve never bowed your head to anyone who wasn’t of higher rank and a Roman,” said Raymond.

Hunter was looking at the ground again and it was a little time before he spoke.

“By my admittedly somewhat shaky reckoning, it’s been over two months since I was captured,” he said. “And you’re not what I was led to believe you were. That much is obvious. Gideon spends her days caring for the sick, the injured and the orphan children. She tells me that druids don’t conduct human sacrifices, as I was told, and I’ve seen no evidence of it. Sara, the fearsome Queen Hasta that we Romans are all so afraid of, still refuses to kill me, despite everything I’ve done and how much my people have hurt her. Leonard plays with children and mourns the loss of his sister, although he did rather delight in my chains, but there is truth in every myth. And then there’s you… I can’t imagine a Roman taking a punishment for their slave. You have done nothing to hurt me the entire time I’ve been here, and… I’m confused. I don’t know what to believe. I’m still a slave, certainly, but it’s the most cordial slavery I’ve ever encountered. I’m not forced to work, I only have to bear the rather mild consequences of my decision not to.”

Raymond looked at Hunter, and realised that the man in front of him was in crisis. He’d been ignoring, or at the very least rationalising away, the differences between what he’d been told and the reality of life in Venta Untaridi. Raymond’s actions had meant he couldn’t ignore the differences anymore. It had to be hard for him to take in.

“I should hate you all, and I have tried to…” said Hunter. “Barbarians killed my family. I’m dishonouring their memory every time I do as you ask. But I can’t hate someone who did what you did for me.”

“Not all barbarians are the same, just like not all Romans are the same,” said Raymond. “I’ve been hoping that you’d realise that.”

“It has taken longer than it should have,” replied Hunter. “Maria always tried to teach me that I should question my assumptions.”

“Maria?”

“The slave in my father’s household who raised me,” said Hunter.

“You were raised by a slave?” asked Raymond. His own mother had been a widower and things had been hard, but at least she’d always been there.

“It’s quite common in Rome. My adoptive father was an important man… I often didn’t see him for weeks. Maria taught me to read and write, educated me and cared for me. She’s the closest thing that I ever had to a mother,” said Hunter.

Raymond couldn’t help but frown. The Romans did things very differently to the Britons. He needed to remember that. Hunter didn’t have the same social norms to draw upon that he and the other Britons did.

“She sounds like a sensible woman,” said Raymond.

“She is,” said Hunter. “I haven’t seen her for over year. Not since…” and he trailed off, biting down on whatever he’d been about to say, and shaking his head as if he could shake away the thoughts inside.

Raymond decided that a distraction was in order.

“Look, while I’m stuck recovering, why don’t you teach me some more Latin?”

Hunter nodded. “Of course, but I’ll work for you now. I still won’t give up Roman secrets, but if you ask something of me, then I’ll do it… help in the forge, whatever you wish.”

Raymond had thought that such an announcement would make him happy, but it didn’t. He hadn’t wanted to break the man, and Hunter looked defeated and miserable; he looked more like the Centurion that they’d stripped of his armour, than the man who’d learnt to bake bread with Lily. He’d actually seemed almost happy then. When Raymond had offered to take his slave’s punishment, he hadn’t anticipated these consequences, he’d just known that Hunter would never trust them if they hurt him like that. Now, it felt like manipulation, and he didn’t like it.

His plan had seemed so simple in conception. Capture a Roman and show them what life was really like for the Britons. Then eventually, return them to their people to spread the word and act as a bridge between the tribes and the invading force. Get them to teach the tribe Latin, while they learnt Brittonic, so that they could understand each other. They would be able to make treaties and prevent further bloodshed. No one would have to lose their fiancée to another Roman attack, no children would have to lose their parents or be enslaved, and eventually peace would follow. Raymond was beginning to see the flaws in that, not least because he hadn’t realised that influence went both ways.

He’d never expected to start regarding his test subject as a friend, or being concerned about his welfare in anything other than the same way that he cared about people in general. He was supposed to just be a Roman, kept at arm’s length, but now he was “Hunter”, a lost Centurion who would probably rather not be here.

“I’m not going to manage any real work for a few days, so let’s stick to Latin for now,” replied Raymond, pushing aside his concerns for the moment. He needed to maintain a level of detachment and that wasn’t going to happen if he continued to think about what Hunter must be feeling, sat there in chains.

“ _Very well_ ,” replied Hunter, in Latin. “ _Shall we try some conversation_?”

“ _Let’s do that_ ,” said Raymond, and the two of them began a halting exchange, as Hunter corrected Raymond’s grammar and helped him with vocabulary. Raymond got the impression that they both needed the distraction at the moment.

***

Gideon was at the temple, praying to Sulis for Raymond’s swift recovery. It had been several days since the flogging and he was on the mend now, although Gideon was still finding it hard to forgive him for his idiotic sacrifice.

It would be Ostara in a few days’ time and preparations were already under way. The festival marked the beginning of Spring in the Briton’s calendar, and there would be a feast and special ceremony. She was concluding her business with the goddess when she caught sight of a visitor to the town heading in her direction. Immediately a smile came to her lips.

“Julian!” she exclaimed.

The smile was returned by the blond-haired Briton, as he approached the temple. “Gideon!” He offered her a hand and she pulled him into an embrace.

“It has been far too long,” said Julian.

“It most certainly has,” replied Gideon. “You got my message?”

He nodded. “I know you were expecting a reply and not a visit, but when I read the contents, I thought I’d better come myself. I won’t be missed in Venta Medi for a few days, and Kendra was on her way here with a message from King Bartolo for Queen Sara, so I decided to tag along.”

Gideon gave him a quizzical look. “Then you know something?”

“You know that my predecessor kept a list of lost names, which I took on when I became apprenticed to them as an alchemist?” asked Julian.

“I wasn’t sure. It’s been so long since I’ve been in touch with anyone in the tribe, if we can even call it that now that it’s scattered across the West and we have no real home,” said Gideon.

“There are still pockets of our people who have remained together but we’re losing our identity, merging into other tribes. Soon we won’t be recognisable as Catuvellauni,” said Julian. “It’s sad, once we led other tribes into battle and our tribe was thought of as the largest and most accomplished of them all. Other tribal kings and queens swore fealty to the kings of the Catuvellauni… Alas, those days are gone.”

“Indeed, and the world moves on,” said Gideon.

“I was very interested in the details of your letter though,” said Julian.

“You were? Which bit in particular?” asked Gideon.

“You said you wanted to know about male children lost in the sack of Caer Ludein. Ones that weren’t certainly killed but were just missing, either taken by the Romans as slaves or we never found their body?” Julian’s eyes held the light of curiosity.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“There are quite a few, but you mentioned a mark on his shoulder, a stag,” said Julian.

“I thought it looked like one of the coins the Catuvellauni forged,” said Gideon. “I’m not sure why he’d have the likeness on his shoulder though.”

“Do you remember why we used to put a stag on our coins?” asked Julian.

“It was the symbol of our people,” replied Gideon.

“Not just of our people,” replied Julian. “It was the personal symbol of King Meinitrekki. His son was on the list of lost names, his name was Miccio. He’d be about the age you suggested now, assuming he lived.”

“But King Meinitrekki hasn’t been heard from for years. If Miccio lived then he would be the rightful heir to the throne of Caer Ludein,” said Gideon.

“If there _was_ a throne anymore,” said Julian, with a half shrug. “A scattered tribe like ours doesn’t need a king. But you’re suggesting the impossible. Miccio was either killed or enslaved.”

“What if he wasn’t?” asked Gideon.

Julian shrugged. “Then we would have to try to find the king, but he swore a vendetta against the Romans after he lost his son. He’s probably dead too by now.” The alchemist looked at the druid. “Perhaps I should meet this man. At the very least I need to see the mark you mentioned. It might be significant.”

Gideon frowned. “I’m not sure that we should let him know of our suspicions.”

“Why not? If he is who we think he is, then he has a tribe desperately in need of a leader,” said Julian.

Gideon shook her head, unsure quite how to explain. It took her a moment to find the words.

“Because he was raised as a Roman, and he has no idea that he might not be one of them,” replied Gideon, and watched the baffled look settle across Julian’s face.

“I don’t understand,” said Julian, shaking his head. “How would that even have been possible? Romans either kill or they take slaves or hostages. He’d know that they’re the enemy even if he’d been forced to work for them or imprisoned. Which is before I even get to the question of how the hell you found this out if he’s a Roman?”

“He’s currently our prisoner,” said Gideon, with a matter of fact air, “he speaks quite good Brittonic with a Catuvellauni accent. His name is Agrippa Lacerius Venator Drusanus, although we call him Hunter.”

Julian’s puzzled expression only became more so. “There’s something about that name…”

“It is quite long. Romans seem to require more names than we do for some reason,” said Gideon.

A look of realisation came over Julian’s face. “The Roman Consul just arrived in Britain, less than three months ago. His name is Zamanus Drusus Temporis. If I understand Roman naming customs correctly, and I have made something of a study of it, his adopted son would be given the epithet Drusanus.”

“Are you saying that we captured the adopted son of the Consul?” asked Gideon, with some horror.

Julian gave a rather unhappy nod.

“Oh dear,” said Gideon. That would complicate things. Their prisoner wasn’t just some random Roman that no one would really miss. He was a family member of one of the two Consul’s of Rome.

Normally she would discuss this with Raymond, but given that he was currently incapacitated and probably sleeping due to the medicine he was still taking to ward off the pain, she had no choice but to go straight to Sara.

“We need to go to the Queen,” said Gideon.

“We do?” asked Julian. “Er, I’ve heard about her. The Romans call her Hasta. It’s not very complimentary.”

Gideon rolled her eyes. “Really? You’re listening to Romans now?”

“No, I wouldn’t, but they must have a reason…”

Gideon shook her head with disappointment, and dragged her fellow Catuvellauni towards the Queen’s residence. Mick was stood guard outside.

“Who’s your friend?” he growled.

“This is Julian, son of Albert, and an alchemist. He also has the distinction of being my former tribe’s historian,” said Gideon. “He’s safe. I vouch for him.”

Mick shrugged. “Well, he doesn’t look like much, I’ll give you that.”

“Excuse me?” said Julian, with indignation.

“Ignore him,” said Gideon. “Are we allowed to see the Queen?”

Mick raised an eyebrow. “She’s in, although not in the best of moods. The Romans are on the move again, and Leonard’s scouts still haven’t found Lisa or worked out what the bastards are looking for.”

“I think I might have an idea about that,” said Gideon.

That got her a look from the gruff guardsman. “You should go in then. It might improve their temper.”

Gideon nodded, and they proceeded into the Queen’s roundhouse, with Mick following them. Julian still looked a little nervous. It was darker inside and smoke hung in the air. Sara and Leonard were stood at the table with Kendra, a messenger from King Bartolo, looking at a large piece of vellum that displayed a map of the surrounding area.

“Sara,” said Gideon. “This is Julian, son of Albert. He has some information about Hunter.”

“We don’t have time to discuss slaves,” said Leonard, still studying the map.

“It’s important,” said Gideon.

Sara looked up. “Well make it quick, we’ve got Romans on the move and they’re headed in our direction. Kendra says that they searched Venta Medi, and threatened them with bringing in the entire Roman army if they didn’t let them. It looks like just a scouting party for now, but it’s a good bet they’re going to offer us the same if they come in our direction.”

Gideon frowned. “We think Hunter is the adopted son of Consul Drusus. They’re probably looking for him.”

Leonard looked up now too, with sudden interest. “What?” he asked, with terse alarm.

Kendra looked rather perplexed. “I don’t understand. Who’s Hunter?”

“A Roman prisoner we picked up. Ray has a plan… it’s complicated. Why do you think he’s the son of the Consul?” asked Sara.

“It’s the name,” said Julian. “Gideon said that your Roman prisoner’s name is Agrippa Lacerius Venator Drusanus. When a Roman adopts a son, they give the adoptee their name as an epithet. So, Drusus would give his adopted son the epithet Drusanus. It’s quite logical really. It means he doesn’t have to abandon his original family name, but his adoptive father still lays claim to him. Usually adoptions are political. I’d be interested to hear the story behind your Roman’s adoption by a consul, normally that means they’re on the path to something important, a consulship themselves, even.”

Gideon gave Julian a look, and her fellow tribesman fell silent.

“Sorry, I get carried away sometimes. I’ve made it my business to study Romans and their customs. It’s actually fascinating,” said Julian, without much real apology to his words.

“Hunter was adopted as a child,” said Gideon. “I doubt politics came into it.”

However, she frowned at her own words. She was missing something, but if Hunter was a prince of the Catuvellauni, then Drusus would have had reason to have at least held him hostage. She still didn’t understand why he’d raise him as his adopted son, but she felt she understood more about what had happened here than before.

“I am going to have words with Raymond when he’s on his feet again,” snarled Leonard. “He should never have brought that Roman here! He’s been nothing but trouble.”

Sara stood up straight. She was dressed in a relatively plain dress today, it was light blue with white birds embroidered around the neck, and matched the colour of her eyes. The skirt came to her shins but was split down the side to allow for easy movement, and, as always, the belt around her middle held the sheaths for several knives. Sara toyed with the hilt of one of them.

“I say we hand the bastard back to the beetles,” said Mick, from where he was playing with the fire in the hearth. “Preferably for a good ransom.”

“If we do that then he’ll just tell them where he’s been all this time, and we’d be putting the whole town in danger,” said Sara.

“Then we kill him,” said Leonard. “It’s the only way to keep the town safe.”

Sara fixed Leonard with a cold look, and she was clearly debating internally, trying to decide if it really was the only way.

“You know I’m right,” said Leonard.

“You can’t!” said Gideon. She knew what Hunter was. She knew he was a soldier who had killed Britons, but she still didn’t think he should die. Not like this. “He didn’t ask to be captured by us. It would be murder in cold blood, and against the teachings of Sulis. It could bring down a curse on us.”

“Like we’re not already,” murmured Mick.

“And he might be a lost prince of the Catuvellauni…” added Julian.

“What?!” asked Sara.

“The mark on his shoulder…” said Gideon.

“Is the mark of the Kings of the Catuvellauni,” finished Julian. “I need to examine it to verify it. Gideon says that he already spoke our language, and given that he was adopted… I have to think that there is at least the possibility that he is the lost prince, Miccio, son of King Meinitrekki.”

“King Meinitrekki?” asked Sara. “My father used to tell stories about him. About how he united the tribes to fight against the Romans, and the fall of Caer Ludein. It was the beginning of the Roman invasion. He couldn’t keep the alliance together and that’s how the Romans got their foothold.”

“He had a son,” said Julian. “He was probably about four or five years old when Caer Ludein fell, and he’s recorded on the list of lost names from that night.”

“Which was about thirty years ago,” said Gideon.

“Making our Centurion about the right age and with a suspiciously good grasp of our language,” said Sara.

“You can’t seriously believe this?” said Leonard. “Even if it’s true, he’s not a Briton anymore. He’s the adopted son of the Consul. The First Spear of the Twentieth Legion. He’s the enemy and having him here is putting us all in danger!”

“Mick, get Raymond and Hunter. Bring them here. Carry Ray if you have to,” said Sara.

Mick nodded and departed the room.

“You can’t kill him, Sara,” said Gideon.

“I will do whatever I have to do to protect this tribe,” said Sara, angrily. “His life isn’t worth more than ours.”

“I didn’t say it was,” said Gideon. “But we are not murderers.”

That got Sara’s attention, and she could see the expression behind her eyes evolve from the cold, hard steel of who she had to be as the warrior Queen, to something else. Gideon wasn’t certain what yet though. She hoped at least she had been listened to.

They waited in silence until Mick bundled both Raymond and Hunter into the room. Raymond was walking on his own, although stiffly and with obvious pain. Hunter collected a chair for Raymond to sit on and then dropped to his knees unbidden, head down. Gideon took in the heavy chains that he wore and felt anger settle in her.

“You put him in chains?” she asked, quietly burning at the injustice. She hadn’t seen him since they’d tended to Raymond in the druid’s cave.

“He tried to escape,” said Leonard.

“It was necessary,” added Sara.

“Hardly,” said Gideon, looking at the rather sorry prisoner.

At least he’d found better bindings for his wrists and ankles, although she could see the rust colour of blood leaking through them. Perhaps she should have kept a better eye on what was going on with the prisoner. She should have known that Leonard would take this as an opportunity to make him pay for Raymond’s flogging. She took in Hunter’s tiredness and wondered if he’d slept at all these last few days. She didn’t think she’d seen him look like this since his arrival, and maybe not even then.

“What’s going on?” asked Raymond, only wincing slightly as he sat. “Hi Kendra,” he added, with a smile. The two had history, but somehow it was never awkward between them. Gideon always marvelled at that.

“What happened to you?” asked Kendra, wincing in sympathy.

“Long story,” said Raymond, and Gideon spotted that Hunter tensed at the mention of Raymond’s injury.

“The Romans have sent a scout party out,” said Sara. “They’re looking for someone. They’re basically giving towns an ultimatum: let us come in and search, or we’ll bring the Legion down on you. It looks like they’re coming this way. They were at Venta Medi when Kendra left.”

Kendra nodded in confirmation.

“Oh, that’s not good,” said Raymond.

“Understatement of the year,” said Mick. “Especially if they’re coming for your boy there.”

Raymond frowned. “You think they’re looking for Hunter? Why?”

For the first time, Hunter properly looked up. He seemed as perplexed as they were.

“Because he’s the adopted son of the Consul,” said Leonard, spitting out the words. “Something he’s failed to mention thus far.”

A look of shock and then resignation settled on the former Centurion’s face. Raymond was also registering surprise at this news.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t just kill you,” said Sara, drawing a knife and advancing on the prisoner. Her eyes were flashing with what Gideon had come to recognise at the stirrings of her bloodlust. Sara put the knife to Hunter’s throat, her other hand grasping his hair, and Hunter seemed to be accepting of the situation rather than afraid. Gideon was concerned.

“Wait a minute,” said Raymond, with alarm. “Sara, no!”

Hunter spoke, his voice soft. “Maybe you should.” His eyes met Sara’s. “Put an end to this.”

The sharp blade touched Hunter’s skin and drew a rivulet of blood. Gideon very much got the impression that he was simply waiting for Sara to kill him.

“Why didn’t you tell us who you are?” asked Sara.

“Because I knew that you’d either demand ransom or kill me,” said Hunter, his voice only just above a whisper, so that Gideon had to strain to hear his words. “The former, my honour wouldn’t allow. The latter, well, I had hoped I would be able to escape and return to my Legion, obviously you know how my attempt faired. Really, I am only left with one option now. I understand. You have to protect your people, and if I’m dead then they can’t find me. Te absolvo. I do not hold you responsible. Kill me and save your people.”

“Hunter…” began Raymond.

Sara shot him a look, and he fell silent. Everyone else seemed to be too stunned by Hunter’s quiet acceptance to discuss the events unfolding. Hunter closed his eyes.

“Diana, si placet accipere animam meam inferis eris et enutries ut familia mea,” said Hunter. The words were spoken quietly and had finality about them. Even though she didn’t understand what he’d said, she understood that it was a prayer.

“Hunter, no,” said Raymond, almost as quietly. Gideon thought that it was her imagination at first, but there was definitely dampness in his eyes.

Gideon looked between Raymond and Leonard. “What did he say?”

Leonard was giving the Roman a strange look, as if he’d heard something that he wished he hadn’t.

“He asked Diana to guide his soul to the underworld so that he can join his family,” said Raymond.

For a moment, Sara looked like she would do it, her arm tensed ready to cut, but she didn’t. She pulled back, let go of Hunter’s hair, and grabbed a cloth from the table, wiping the blood from the blade of her knife before sheathing it again.

“Sara, if the Romans find him here…” began Leonard.

“They won’t,” said Sara.

Hunter’s eyes flew open as he felt the blade removed. “I don’t understand.”

“I take the safety of my subjects seriously,” said Sara. “Sulis apparently thinks that includes you now.” Her eyes flicked across to Gideon, and she gave her Queen the smallest of smiles and an incline of her head in acknowledgement of her words.

“We can’t have him in the town when the Romans come,” said Raymond, who had noticeably relaxed.

“Gideon!” said Hunter, suddenly, “they can’t find Gideon here either. There are standing orders to kill all druids when found.”

Eyebrows were raised around the room.

“I guess you’re both leaving town for a few days then,” said Sara.

“There’s my hut in the woods,” said Gideon. “It’s about a day’s journey from here. I go there to gather mushrooms and herbs for my medicines.”

Sara nodded. “That will do. Leonard, do you think you can manage him on your own?”

“Of course, but you’re sending me out with the slave and the druid? I wanted him dead,” said Leonard.

Sara gave him a smirk. “Yeah, and you’re the one most likely to cause trouble with the Romans in town. I’d rather not lose my Chief Guardsman because he insulted the wrong person. Getting you out of town will reduce the chances of anything going wrong.”

“I’m pretty sure I should resent that remark,” said Leonard, with an irritated glance towards Sara.

“But I have to look after Raymond,” said Hunter. “And he can’t travel.”

“I think I’ll be okay,” said Raymond. “I’m up and moving now at least, and I don’t need the medicine anymore. Lily can help me if I need it.”

“That’s settled then. Pack your bags everyone, you’re going on a trip,” said Sara.

“Wait,” said Julian, who had been quiet up until this moment. “I need to see the mark.”

Sara sighed and looked towards Hunter. “Show him.”

“Show him what?”

“The mark on your shoulder.” Sara looked at the Roman as if he was being incredibly dim.

Hunter frowned. “You want to see a birth mark?”

“Yes, please,” said Julian.

“Who are you?” asked Hunter.

“Julian, son of Albert, from Venta Medi. I’m a tribe historian for the Catuvellauni,” said Julian.

“For the what?” asked Hunter.

“He doesn’t even know…?” asked Julian, turning to Gideon.

She shook her head, trying to give him a hint not to continue.

“Just show him the mark, slave,” said Leonard.

Which was all it took for Hunter to appear to lose all his confidence and give in. He reached up and pulled down the shoulder of his tunic, revealing the stag branded into his skin. Julian sharply inhaled a breath at the sight. Then he rapidly took a scrap of vellum from his bag and a piece of charcoal and faithfully rendered a drawing of the mark. He was obviously fascinated.

“It’s too big to be a coin…” murmured Julian, quietly, writing down an approximate measurement.

“That’s enough,” said Raymond, pulling Hunter’s tunic back across his shoulder. He seemed annoyed at the scrutiny and Gideon thought she understood. Hunter was a person, not a thing to be examined. Hunter still appeared cowed and defeated, kneeling on the floor in his chains, head down again.

Raymond let out a sigh. “You need to get ready to go. If the Romans were at Venta Medi then it won’t be long before they get here.”

“Agreed,” said Gideon. “I will pack my things and meet you at the East Gate.”

“Fine,” said Leonard. “This is going to be fun and games, I’m sure.”

“Wait,” said Sara, “Mick, take Hunter and find him some supplies for a day’s journey.”

Mick grunted in affirmation, pulled Hunter to his feet. The Roman was frowning but he said nothing, allowing himself to be ushered out. Sara very pointedly waited until they had left the room.

“Julian? What do you think?” asked Sara.

“The mark appears to be of the sigil of King Meinitrekki. I can verify that much, although I honestly have no idea why it would have been branded on his shoulder in that way. The Catuvellauni would never have done that to a child,” said Julian. “His Brittonic is excellent, very good for a Roman, and Gideon is right, he speaks with a distinct Catuvellauni accent. It’s more there than his Roman one. He has the same colour hair and eyes as Queen Deiana.” Julian paused and then shrugged. “Honestly, I think he _is_ Prince Miccio, but he clearly doesn’t know that.”

Leonard laughed, shaking his head, as if it was too unbelievable for him to countenance.

“So, what do we do?” asked Raymond.

“We have to tell him,” said Gideon.

Sara shook his head. “Not yet. Leonard’s right, he thinks he’s a Roman. He’s not going to believe us, and it doesn’t change where his loyalties lie. They’ve had him for the last thirty years. In every way that matters, he is the enemy.”

Raymond shook his head. “But he’s also one of ours, and he knows that he was lied to. He was told that all barbarians are evil. That we didn’t care for our children or our families. He was told that we were uncivilised at best, murderers at worst. Except he knows that’s wrong now. He’s seen how we live and care for each other. He watched me take his punishment and saw that you allowed it.”

“Yeah, well, some of us still say that’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever done…” said Leonard.

“The point is that no Roman would ever have done that for a slave,” said Raymond. “He’s beginning to think for himself, and understand that we’re not who he thought we were.”

“So, that’s even more reason to tell him,” said Gideon.

Raymond shook his head. “I don’t think he can cope with it right now. We need more evidence. We need something to show him, something that will prove it.”

“We don’t have anything!” said Gideon, with exasperation. “And I don’t know how we could find anything from that long ago.”

“Actually,” said Julian, “I could ask around. Someone must have seen something, even if it was only a Roman taking a child.”

“There is one other person who must know the truth,” said Raymond. “Consul Drusus. He adopted him. He has to know where he came from.”

Julian nodded. “Well, of course he does. He was there.”

“He was where?” asked Sara.

Julian waved an expansive hand. “He was the Roman General who led the campaign against King Meinitrekki. Consul Drusus is the man responsible for the sack of Caer Ludein.”

“He’s never going to believe that his adopted father was responsible for stealing him,” said Raymond.

Gideon let out a sigh. “You’re right. We have to wait.”

***AD 31***

Maria looked at the poor boy that Drusus had brought to her. He was blackened with soot and had burn marks across his body. She placed his age at around four or five, although she couldn’t be certain. The young master had dumped him rather unceremoniously on the couch and didn’t seem to care much about his discomfort. The boy moaned in his unconsciousness.

“A child, Drusus? He’s hurt. Where are his parents?”

“His mother is dead. His father will be too soon,” said Drusus, sneering in a way that Maria didn’t really like. “Caer Ludein has fallen, and the Catuvellauni are fallen with it. The alliance of tribes is broken.”

“So, you’ve brought me a slave? For your household or to be sold?” she asked, unsure what she’d do with a boy this young. He’d have to recover before he could be put to work and that could take a while.

“No,” said Drusus, bluntly. “He’s to be raised as a Roman. He’s royal blood of the Britons and should at least be accorded appropriate treatment. I’m making arrangements to adopt him.” The sneer on Drusus lips suggested to Maria that he didn’t care at all about the boy’s parentage, and only whatever plans he had to use the boy.

Maria was still taken aback.

“You’ve never shown an interest in children before,” she said.

“I have plans for him,” said Drusus. “He’s going to be very useful to me.”

“Does he have a name?” asked Maria.

“He has a Brittonic name,” replied Drusus. “Which you will help him forget. From now onwards he is to be known as Agrippa Lacerius Drusanus.”

“Agrippa, that’s hardly original, and why curse the poor boy with the name Lacerius?”

“Because it’s common in the slums of Rome and that is where I plan to say I found him. It will be an act of charity. I will take an orphan into my home and give him all the benefits a Roman of my rank can afford him. People will marvel at my generosity. It will stand me in good stead for my coming political career,” said Drusus.

“I see,” replied Maria, with obvious disapproval.

“You’d do well to remember your station. Being head of my household’s slaves doesn’t give you the right to criticise my choices,” said Drusus.

Maria bowed her head. She could only get away with so much as a slave, even if she had known Drusus for a good portion of his life.

“Of course, please forgive me. I only speak out of concern for your safety, Master,” she said, adding the honorific to show her capitulation.

“He can’t remember any of his previous life. I assume your medicines will ensure that even if the injuries don’t blur his memory, your herbs will do the rest,” said Drusus. Maria had occasionally made use of such herbs before to help Drusus with his opponents. She had a few other useful potions that had served him well too, but she disliked using any such things on a child. This all felt wrong to her. The child was sick and clearly of no threat to anyone.

“If I give him too much, it’ll kill him,” said Maria. “I don’t like doing this to one so young. Are you willing to risk it?”

Drusus nodded. “A clean slate. You’ll need to teach him Latin and everything else that a good Roman should know.”

“Assuming he survives his wounds. He is badly burned,” said Maria, gently removing the dirty rags that Drusus had brought him to her in. “It’s a long journey back to Rome as well.” She pulled back a cloth from his shoulder and found what looked like a brand mark. Something hot, probably metal, had burned deep into the boy’s skin.

“He’s your responsibility,” said Drusus. “If you fail to keep him alive, and fail to teach him what he needs to know, then it will be your hide that I’ll beat.”

“Yes, Master,” replied Maria, but she was already more concerned about the child than herself.

He left her with her new charge and Maria began in earnest to deal with tending to the child. She had another slave fetch water, and she carefully bathed him. He moaned with small pained whimpers, sounding scared and distraught even in unconsciousness. She got aloe and honey to treat his burns, belladonna and opium to deal with the pain and help him to forget. She didn’t like doing it, but the burns were bad and even if Drusus hadn’t asked her to ensure his forgetfulness, she might have needed to use the strongest medicines at her disposal, just to keep him comfortable.

The boy had sandy auburn hair, and a nose that he clearly needed to grow into. He had been wearing the traditional garments of a Brittonic child, but they were as burnt as he was, so Maria disposed of them. She would have to find him suitable clothes that were appropriate for the adopted son of a noble Roman. Drusus would expect his son to be properly attired. However, first of all she would have to get him well enough to travel.

Maria was used to travelling with the Master when he expected to spend long periods of time away, but he had never presented her with a challenge like this. The child was ill and had clearly been through quite the ordeal. It was probably just as well that he would forget most of it.

She sat with him through the fever that he took. She changed the dressings on his wounds. If he was lucky, and she took good care, they wouldn’t scar. There was nothing that she could do about the deep brand scar on his shoulder, and she thought he would always have it. She got him to drink more of the medicine she made for him, and she ensured that he felt no pain. Although the side effect of feeling no pain was that the poor boy hallucinated and had some rather horrible nightmares. She understood only a little of the language. It had been many years since she’d spoken it herself.

She knew enough to understand that he called for his mother, and that he was afraid.

“It’s okay, Agrippa, you won’t remember any of it once the fever breaks,” she murmured, and carefully held him, comforted him, until he fell back into a deeper sleep.

Drusus returned the next day and despite Maria doing her best to explain that Agrippa was still sick, he insisted that they begin the journey back to Rome. Maria once again found herself desperately worried about the boy. The road was not the best place to be feverish and ill, but she had to work with what Drusus gave her.

It took two days, but the fever did break, and Maria’s hard work nursing him paid off. He slept for much of the rest of the journey. When they returned to Drusus’ house in Rome, she began the long, slow process of persuading her charge that he was a Roman.

It was awkward at first because he really couldn’t understand her, but she spoke only Latin to him, and he was young enough that he picked it up relatively quickly. The medicine that she ensured he took meant that his memories would always be somewhat clouded of the period. She pushed down all her guilt at that, because she had a strong suspicion that Drusus would kill him if he ever remembered that he wasn’t a Roman.

So, she taught him how a Roman behaved and she taught him how a Roman thought. She taught him to read and write, she gave him an education as best she could, and she watched him grow. She even found herself loving him, and believed that he loved her in return. It was all she could really ask for from a relationship that was based on a lie, but she would always do her best for him. She could only imagine what Drusus had planned for his future, but she was a slave and could only do so much.


	6. Milites Consectati

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nero is emperor during 61AD, but he didn't have an easy path to the throne. He was adopted by his Great-Uncle Claudius, and was the last of the Julio-Claudian Emperors. Succession to the Imperial throne was usually by a chosen successor, who was then adopted into the family. Becoming that successor was a position that was fought for, and often women were key players in manoeuvring their sons, husbands and lovers into position. Marrying the correct person could be an important step towards becoming emperor, but having the funds to buy favour was often just as important.
> 
> In 30AD Tiberius was coming to the end of his reign, and the jostling for position to be his heir was intense. He was eventually succeeded by his grand-nephew, Caligula, having survived a plot by Sejanus to oust him.

_"Ac sparsos per castella milites consectati, expugnatis praesidiis ipsam coloniam invasere ut sedem servitutis."_

"They hunted down the Roman troops in their scattered posts, stormed the forts, and assaulted the colony itself, which they saw as the headquarters of their servitude." - Tacitus, Agricola 16

***AD 61***

Meinitrekki, formerly King Meinitrekki of the Catuvellauni watched the column of Romans as they left Venta Medi and moved onwards towards Venta Untaridi. He was blond haired and blue eyed, an unusual combination for a Briton, that spoke to a heritage far north of where he now resided. He wore old, but well-kept armour, that glistened with hints of a golden metal. It was mostly hidden under a frequently mended cloak that had once been richly embroidered with stars made of golden thread, but they had long since faded and every trace of shine had worn away as the threads frayed.

He was well hidden in a wooded area a good way from the road, but he had a decent vantage point, and the Romans hadn’t even thought to turn their heads to look here for enemies. They trusted that their superior numbers would keep them safe and no one would dare to attack them, and normally that would have been correct. However, Meinitrekki wasn’t interested in the column of soldiers itself, but more in the supply cart that trundled along behind it. It was a far easier target, especially once separated from the rest of the column.

“Why are they doing this?” he asked the man beside him. They’d watched the Romans search Venta Medi, and come up blank.

“We’ve been causing them enough trouble lately,” replied his companion.

His red-headed friend wore a dark blue cloak, clasped at his neck with a pin decorated with a large beetle. Meinitrekki had presented it to him as a gift many years ago, acknowledging his perseverance and industry. It was about that time that he’d gained his nickname too, “Glaswilla” – blue beetle, and Meinitrekki didn’t think that he could actually remember what his real name was now. No one called him by it and they hadn’t for years.

“I knew this was a mistake,” replied Meinitrekki.

“Well, if you hadn’t been stupid enough to get yourself noticed then perhaps Drusus wouldn’t be quite so interested,” said Glaswilla.

“How was I to know that I’d be recognised? I didn’t think there were any Romans left on these shores that remembered Caer Ludein,” said Meinitrekki.

“You’re joking. Drusus still wants that damn gold and he thinks you’re the key to getting it,” said Glaswilla.

“Which is really quite ironic considering that I don’t know where it is.” He looked pointedly at his friend.

Glaswilla just raised an eyebrow. “Look on the bright side, Drusus’ return gives us another chance to find Miccio.”

“I accepted that I’d never know his fate years ago,” said Meinitrekki, sadly. “Assuming that he’s even still alive, he won’t know who I am. Drusus probably lied to me about him, and he always hoped to use him against me. It’s much more likely that the bastard killed him when they got to Rome, as part of one of their ridiculous tribute parades.”

Glaswilla patted him on the back in a gesture of comfort and reassurance. “We’ll find out what he did with him, and if he is with the spirits, then Drusus and Fero will pay. If he’s alive, well, then we’ll rescue him, and all will be right with the world.”

“We could reunite the tribe, with its prince returned,” said Meinitrekki, a far off look in his eyes, and he could tell by the way that his friend’s face changed that he’d gone too far.

“There is no tribe, Meini,” said Glaswilla. “All that is gone now. All those years of searching... Of being lost in Europe and Italia, of prisons and slave camps. We neglected our duty to the tribe. Our people are scattered. This is just for my sister and your son.”

“If we get Miccio back, everything will be different, you’ll see,” said Meinitrekki, but he barely believed his own words.

Glaswilla shook his head, still in disagreement. “Meanwhile, we have a rebellion to run.”

“Yes, that cart is begging to be raided,” said Meinitrekki. “Hopefully they’ll get the message that I’m not hiding in any of the towns and leave them be.”

“The Romans aren’t known for their intelligence,” replied Glaswilla, “but it’s worth a try.”

Meinitrekki and Glaswilla quietly moved back through the woods to the small band of Britons who were waiting for them. “Fancy taking a bite out of the Roman legion?”

The various members of Meinitrekki’s rebel band nodded their agreement. Meinitrekki grinned.

“Take up your positions, then,” he said. “That supply cart is ours.”

His men and women scuttled away, keeping low so that they wouldn’t be seen and got ready to move on Meinitrekki’s command. Glaswilla had taken out his bow and had positioned himself with a good vantage point to the road. He was firing an arrow of his own design, one that was currently untested, but Meinitrekki had faith in his best friend and advisor.

The cart trundled along, unawares that it was now a target. Meinitrekki checked one last time that everyone was where they were supposed to be and gave Glaswilla the nod to fire when he was ready. The arrow shot through the air and embedded itself in the side of the cart through the cartwheel spokes. The arrow lodged and immediately the specially designed metal shaft cut into the spokes of the wheel and destroyed both the wheel and the arrow. There was now no evidence of how the wheel had come to be damaged.

Meinitrekki and Glaswilla exchanged a grin. The cart had ground to a halt, shedding some of its load onto the road. The Romans were gathered around and discussing what to do. They would need to replace the wheel and that would take time. Meinitrekki distinctly heard the order for the rest of the column to continue onwards, while a few guards remained with the cart. This was going to work.

The Britons waited until the main column of men was out of sight, and then Meinitrekki silently signalled to his men to attack. It wasn’t really a fair fight. They began with arrows, which rained down on the men on the road. Those dealt with a good number of the unsuspecting soldiers and then Meinitrekki moved in with his close quarters fighters. The former king might be older in years than his opponents, but he more than made up for his age with his vast experience with the sword. The rest of the Romans fell quickly, although three got away, running rather than fighting, but that wasn’t important. The Britons had no need to hunt them down.

Then, quickly and efficiently, the Britons transferred the contents of the cart to packs. This wasn’t the first time that they’d robbed the Romans and Meinitrekki doubted that it would be the last. He and his band of rebels faded away into the countryside with a good portion of the Roman’s supplies.

Meinitrekki considered this mission to be a success. The more they took from the Romans, the harder it was for them to operate in Britannia. Whilst the former king had no illusions that he could retake his country this way, he would make life as difficult as he possibly could for the invaders. The Romans had taken a wife, a son and a kingdom from him. They deserved to be repaid in kind, and he would take everything that Drusus had, if it took him the rest of his life.

***

Lacerius knew that the chains had not become heavier as he walked, that would be impossible, but it certainly felt that way. He was used to marching in full armour, so really this wasn’t that bad, but the leg irons made it difficult to walk with his usual gait. Instead, each step was pulled up short and he had to take two steps to every one that Leonard took. Gideon was a little ahead of them, leading the way. She and Leonard had exchanged very few words, only basic directions and the odd question about when they would stop to rest.

They had entered a forest and were following a scant path that occasionally disappeared into the undergrowth, Gideon seemed to know where they were going. She occasionally stopped to pick some of the plants that lined the path, tying them in bunches and hanging them from her belt. She used a druid’s ritual sickle to cut them, made of polished bronze and each time she said a short prayer before the herbs were cut. The sickle also hung from her belt when not being used. She had changed out of her white robes and wore something much closer to what the other women of the Untaridi usually wore.

Lacerius’ chains kept getting tangled in the greenery that encroached on the path, and it was annoying to have to stop to keep freeing himself. However, given that Gideon had said they would take most of the day to reach her druid’s hut, and they were now getting into the late afternoon, he thought they had to be close to their destination. The path widened up ahead and there appeared to be a small crossroads where a much more well-travelled path met theirs.

Suddenly they could hear voices, three of them, and Lacerius recognised that they were speaking Latin. Leonard had also heard them.

“ _Romans. We need to hide. Move!_ ” he said, tersely, pulling Lacerius into the underbrush. Gideon was already heading in that direction too.

Lacerius’ chains became snagged on a branch and he tripped, landing hard on the ground. Leonard attempted to haul him to his feet again, but not before one of the approaching Romans had seen them.

Lacerius didn’t really consider his next actions. He had heard voices speaking Latin and it had been two months since he’d heard the language spoken by a native speaker. He saw a chance and decided to run with it.

“Help!” he shouted, having to remind himself to use Latin. He’d spoken so much Brittonic lately that he had to consciously switch back. “I’m a Roman! Help!”

The three approaching figures turned out to be Roman soldiers, dressed in full armour.

“ _Idiot_ ,” said Leonard, angrily, drawing his sword.

Lacerius was on his feet now, and he kept his voice low so that only Leonard and Gideon could hear him. “ _You wanted to be rid of me. This is how you do it. Let me talk to them._ ”

“ _I don’t like this_ ,” said Leonard.

Gideon stepped up beside him. “ _I trust him enough not to betray us now._ ”

Leonard looked at her with withering annoyance. “ _I don’t_.”

The soldiers were now close enough even to hear the whispered conversation, so Lacerius turned to them. All three had drawn their swords as soon as Lacerius had shouted.

“What do we have here?” asked the most senior of the soldiers. Lacerius recognised his rank as Optio, one step below a Centurion, and two below his own rank of Centurion Primus Pilum.

“I am Centurion Lacerius Venator, Primus Pilum of the 20th, Valeria Victrix. I was captured by Britons and traded as a slave.”

“Optio Manlius of the 2nd Augusta. Everyone thinks that you’re dead, Centurion.” The Optio was looking at his companions with suspicion. He aimed a sword towards Leonard. “So, these are the ones who captured you?”

“No, they were returning me to the fort, but we got rather lost,” replied Lacerius.

“Got any proof that you are who you say you are?” asked Manlius.

“Only that I’m clearly a Roman, and I doubt anyone would want to impersonate a captured Roman Centurion,” said Lacerius. “How would a Briton even know my name to give to you?”

“Why the chains?” he asked.

“I haven’t found the tools to remove them yet,” said Lacerius. “The bastards rivetted them on me after I tried to escape.” Why lie when the truth was there to be used?

The Optio waved forwards one of his men. “We might be able to get them off. Pullo?”

“Yes, Optio, I’ve got some tools that might manage it, but it would be better done at a forge,” replied the soldier, examining them.

“Perhaps you could just detach the chains?” suggested Lacerius.

Legionary Pullo nodded. “Better than nothing and then we can get the cuffs off once we’re back at the fort.”

Optio Manlius still had a sword pointed at Leonard, who had taken a step backwards. Lacerius was slightly concerned that the Briton would decide to fight, but for now he seemed to be considering the situation.

“You’re lucky we found you,” said Manlius. “You were heading the wrong way.”

“Yes, it was very fortuitous. What brings you to this part of the woods? It’s unusual for three soldiers to be out alone.”

“We were separated from our unit, when some barbarian rebels attacked our supply train,” said Manlius. “We were outnumbered, so we retreated.”

“Of course,” said Lacerius, “a sensible tactical choice.” He was privately thinking that made these men cowards, possibly deserters depending on whether they had truly intended to return to the fort or not. Regardless, they had clearly failed to stand and protect the supplies, and instead had run away.

“What do you want us to do with them?” Manlius indicated Leonard and Gideon.

“They can go on their way,” said Lacerius. He looked Leonard dead in the eye and in a jovial tone spoke in Brittonic. “ _Pretend I am thanking you for getting me this far. Do not attack these soldiers. I’m very close to getting them to let you go_.”

Leonard smiled, nodded congenially, and replied in a similar tone. “ _That remains to be seen. I don’t like the way that one is looking at Gideon._ ”

He hadn’t noticed that until now, but the third soldier was eyeing up Gideon in a way that suggested he had spotted something. Suddenly he was grabbing her by the wrist, and Gideon let out a worried exclamation of shock, as he pulled her towards him.

“Titus! What’s wrong with you?” asked Manlius.

Legionary Titus pulled open Gideon’s cloak with his free hand and revealed the bunches of herbs that she’d tied at her belt.

“Look, she’s been gathering herbs. She’s a druid.”

“Gathering herbs does not make her a druid,” said Lacerius, trying to sound as reasonable as possible.

“No, but this does,” said Titus, and snatched the small bronze sickle from where it hung from Gideon’s belt.

Optio Manlius took the item from the soldier and turned it over in his hand. Gideon was shooting a pleading look towards Lacerius.

“It’s a shame. She’s a pretty one. She’d have fetched a good price in the slave market, but we don’t want her cursing us. Kill her,” said Manlius.

“No!” said Lacerius, stepping closer to Gideon. “She’s not a druid. Just let her go. Please. They helped me.”

“The ritual blade says she is, Centurion,” replied Manlius. “The standing order is that all druids die.”

“Please, I’m asking you to make an exception just this once. Who would know?” asked Lacerius.

“And have her curse us? No thanks,” replied the Optio. “Why do you care? You’re lucky she didn’t curse you.”

“Druids don’t use magic,” said Lacerius, “it’s either misinformation or superstition, but it’s definitely not true.”

“I think you’ve been hanging around with the Britons too long,” said Manlius. “Even if that’s true, I’ve got my orders. I said, kill her.”

“I said no!” shouted Lacerius. He stepped between Gideon and Titus’ sword just as he thrust it forwards to stab her. Lacerius felt the blade catch him in the side, and he let out a sharp exclamation of pain, and staggered backwards. The chains around his ankles nearly made him fall, but to his surprise Gideon steadied him.

The soldier’s eyes widened, understanding that he’d made a mistake.

“ _Hunter!_ ” said Gideon, concern evident in her voice.

“Well, that’s torn it,” said Manlius. “If we take you back to the fort, you’ll turn us all in for attacking a superior.”

Lacerius clutched at his side, but he jerked his head around at that.

“What? No!”

“I think we’d best kill them all, lads,” said the Optio. He lunged at Leonard, and the Briton was soon fighting back. The other two apparently took this as their order to attack.

Lacerius blocked Titus’ next sword strike with his chains, holding them up to stop the sword that was descending towards them. Gideon took a step back, but was faced with the other soldier running into attack. She twisted out of the way of one attack and tripped the clumsy soldier as she ran past him. However, she had no weapons and Lacerius knew she wouldn’t stand a chance against a trained Roman Legionary if this fight continued. He needed to dispatch his opponent quickly and then get to Gideon, Leonard could at least hold his own in a fight, and would have to do so for now.

This had not gone how Lacerius had hoped at all. The cut to his side was bleeding fiercely, and burnt with a fiery pain every time he moved, but adrenaline was keeping him going for now. He blocked Legionary Titus’ sword again, and this time managed to wrap the chain around the blade and disarm his opponent. In seconds the sword was on the ground, and Lacerius scooped it up, as he dodged a punch.

“Gideon!”

He indicated that the sword was for her and she nodded in acknowledgement, waiting for him to toss it in her direction, which he did. He didn’t have time to see that it made it to her safely, Titus’ fist smashed into his jaw and he was briefly dazed and off balance. He shook off the dizziness before the next punch landed and he pushed himself to his feet. With the momentum of the push off the ground, he barrelled into the Legionary, his chains aiming successfully for his neck. He wrapped and pulled, strangling the Legionary who desperately grasped at the chain around his neck with increasingly erratic clutches of his hands. He held the struggling man until he went limp, and he let him fall to the ground.

He quickly turned around to see that Gideon was fighting rather skilfully with the sword he’d given her. However, the other Legionary was slowly gaining the upper hand, which given that he had been trained every day with sword drills didn’t surprise Lacerius. He approached him from behind, as stealthily as he could manage with the injury to his side and the chains around his ankles. Once again, he rapidly wrapped his chains around the man’s neck. The Legionary struggled as hard as his colleague but all Lacerius had to do was hold on, which was relatively simple compared to escaping the chains. The soldier’s attempts to pull the chains away from his throat were weak and futile. He collapsed to the ground, taking Lacerius down to his knees with him. He untangled his chains in time to see Leonard stabbing the Optio in the stomach, followed by a killing blow to the neck.

Three Romans lay on the ground. One was definitely dead, the other two, well, Lacerius didn’t really care to check their status. He didn’t want to think that he’d just killed two of his own countrymen, and that he was now a traitor on top of his other crimes.

“ _We need to get out of here_ ,” said Leonard. “ _It’s only a matter of time before someone finds the bodies._ ”

“ _We could at least pull them into the woods_ ,” said Gideon, “ _but I agree, we should get moving before any Romans come looking for them_.”

Lacerius nodded and attempted to get to his feet. He groaned as the wound pulled as he got up. His side was becoming damp with blood and he gingerly put a hand to the cut. It flared with new pain immediately, that had him hissing through his teeth, and when he looked at his hand, it was covered with fresh, red blood.

Gideon noticed the pained wince immediately. “ _Let me take a look at that_.”

“ _It’s nothing_ ,” said Lacerius. “ _Just a glancing blow_.”

She ignored him and quickly moved around to his side, gently pulling the ruined fabric away from the jagged edges of skin. He tried to twist himself to get a good look at it, but it was hard to do that and not cause himself more agony. What he could see didn’t look good.

“ _It’s a little more than a glancing blow._ _You’re bleeding… a lot. I’ll need to bandage this before we can move_.” She began to remove her pack and take out pieces of cloth.

Leonard looked up from where he was dragging the dead Optio into the trees.

“ _Make it quick_ ,” said the guardsman.

“ _Sit_ ,” said Gideon.

Lacerius was feeling a little strange, and he began to recognise the signs of blood loss in himself. Perhaps the injury was worse than he’d thought. He did as Gideon asked without even thinking about it, sitting down on a nearby rock.

She poured water over the wound, and plucked pieces of the material of his tunic away from bloody laceration. Fibres left in the wound would fester. Both actions hurt a lot and Lacerius closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, Leonard was dragging the Legionary who had attacked Gideon towards the trees. He removed their weapons, tossing the swords into the bushes away from the bodies. He was also going over them for any useful items, by the looks of it, and had come away with a bag of tools, plus a few other assorted items, including some bread.

“ _Did I kill them?_ ” he asked, dreading the answer.

Leonard nodded. “ _This one, yes. The other’s still breathing. I’ll tie his hands, but leave his feet free. He’ll make his way home, although you’ve probably given him one hell of a headache._ ”

Lacerius hung his head. He would have preferred not to have killed either soldier, but at least one was still alive.

“ _He was going to kill me_ ,” said Gideon, surprisingly gently. “ _You stopped him_.”

“ _He was my countryman, a fellow Roman Legionary_ ,” said Lacerius, his voice full of guilt.

Gideon paused for a moment, giving him a strange look. She opened her mouth and then closed it before shaking her head. She wadded up a piece of cloth and pressed it to his wound, causing him a sharp intake of breath, and he very quickly had other things on his mind than Gideon’s strange behaviour.

“ _Sorry_ ,” she said.

“ _It’s fine. I’d rather not bleed to death_ ,” said Lacerius. “ _Despite my current situation_.” He lifted his wrists to indicate his chains.

“ _I’d rather you didn’t as well_ ,” said Gideon.

Rip frowned slightly at that, but decided to say nothing. She wound another piece of cloth over the wadded pad and around his body, tying it off to keep it in place.

“ _Are you ready? Because I would like to get away from here as quickly as possible,_ ” asked Leonard. He’d finished dragging the soldiers into the woods and was now keeping watch, his eyes flitting about nervously as he brandished his sword ready for use.

“ _I think so_ ,” said Gideon, as she checked the bandage was secure one last time. “ _I’m glad we don’t have far to go though. Walking will make this bleed more._ ”

“ _Fantastic, just what I needed_ ,” said Lacerius, with more than a little sarcasm.

Leonard was already moving, and striding with purpose away from the tainted crossroads. Lacerius got to his feet and felt a little disorientated by the sudden change of altitude. He wobbled, but Gideon had a hand out ready to steady him. For some reason the chains seemed even heavier now, but he stumbled forwards. He was only able to take a few steps before he found himself pitching forwards as his feet somehow refused to cooperate. Gideon barely stopped him from hitting the ground.

“ _Leonard!_ ” she called, and the guardsman turned around.

“ _What?_ ” he asked, with irritation, and then realised the problem.

Lacerius watched the annoyance settle on his face, followed by resignation to what needed to be done. Leonard marched back to them. He got under Lacerius’ arm but soon realised that the chains would prevent him from putting it across his back, without having to deal with the other arm getting in the way.

“ _We need to break the chain_ ,” said Leonard.

He looked around, and noticed the rock to one side of the clearing that Lacerius had sat on when Gideon bandaged him. Without much warning, Lacerius found himself being half walked and half dragged to the rocky outcropping. Leonard had the tools that he’d taken from the Legionaries, and he took out a hammer and chisel.

“ _Put your arms out, with the chain across the rock_ ,” said Leonard. Lacerius nodded, knowing what Leonard had in mind.

With two swift blows of the chisel, and a couple of sparks, first one side of the link gave way, and then the other. For the first time in months, Lacerius’ hands weren’t bound by either ropes or a chain. A length of chain still hung from each wrist but this was considerably better than having them joined.

“ _And the ankles_ ,” said Leonard.

Lacerius was surprised that he would suggest freeing his legs too, but he wasn’t going to complain at this point. He positioned the chain that joined his ankles across the rock and Leonard broke the links closest to the cuffs, leaving only a link on each side so that Lacerius wouldn’t trip as he walked. It was rather a strange thought, that after all this time, the Briton was removing his bindings so that he could help him. Admittedly it was for the selfish reason of moving before anyone found them, but it was still rather unexpected.

Leonard was now able to pull Lacerius to his feet and position an arm across his shoulders. They weren’t going to be able to move quickly, but it should be enough to get them to where they were going.

“ _I still don’t like or trust you_ ,” said Leonard.

“ _Of course not_ ,” replied Lacerius.

Gideon took point, checking the path ahead and clearing it of vegetation as required. They stumbled forwards, each step pulling on the wound in his side and making him wince in pain. He hid the worst of it, because he had no wish to appear weak in front of these Britons, but he also couldn’t help but let out the odd exclamation when the pain became too much to internalise. He was very relieved when their destination came into sight because his vision was greying around the edges. He stumbled once again, nearly bringing both himself and Leonard down.

“ _Come on, swilla_ ,” said Leonard. “ _I’m not carrying you_.”

“ _Insults again_ ,” he murmured. Of course, Leonard would kick him when he was down, however his honour made him straighten his back and deepen his resolve to make it the final short distance to their goal.

Lacerius wasn’t quite sure how he managed to make it the last few steps into the Druid’s hut, but he did. Unfortunately, even his willpower had to give up at some point. It seemed that point was as Leonard and he stepped over the threshold, because suddenly the floor was rising to meet him, and then he was claimed by a sickening blackness that held no limits to its depths.

***

Gideon saw the former Centurion collapse as he and Leonard entered the hut. Her hut was big enough that the three of them would be fine sleeping in here. It had a hearth set ready for a fire, was dry, had shelves that held jars of her various herbs and medicines, and even a pile of blankets. In many ways Hunter could not have picked a better spot to succumb to his injury, she had everything she needed right here to help him. However, the fact that she had everything that she needed, didn’t mean that any of it would work.

“Hunter?” she asked, going over to him. She could see he was still breathing, and he let out a moan of pain, which she supposed could be taken as a good sign.

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Leonard.

“He bled too much,” said Gideon. “The walking means that the wound hasn’t closed.”

There was a bed that Gideon slept on when she stayed here over night.

“Help me get him to the cot,” said Gideon to Leonard, and the other Briton nodded.

Between them they lifted Hunter onto the bed and Gideon investigated the sword cut on his side. The bandage was soaked through and his side felt warm to the touch. She began to remove the bandage with careful action, doing her best not to aggravate the wound further. Hunter groaned, shifting uncomfortably away from Gideon’s touch.

“Shush, it’s fine,” she soothed. “I’m going to need to wash this and then stitch it closed. It looks as if it’s already festering, so the sooner the better.”

“I’ll get the fire going,” said Leonard.

Gideon began to remove his soiled clothes that were covered in blood and assembled blankets to keep him warm. The cloak was salvageable, but his tunic now had a large hole in it. She hadn’t realised how deep the cut was when she’d first examined it. She opened her pack and took out her suturing kit. It contained flax thread and a tiny bronze needle. She had learnt this technique as a young druid, and it was only for severe wounds. The stitches would need to be removed once the wound began to heal otherwise they too would begin to fester and cause new problems. However, the laceration would need to be cleaned with her herbal mixture before she could stitch it.

She looked over to Leonard and found that he had got the fire lit and was already pouring the contents of his water skin into a pot to begin heating. He spotted her watching, and her raised eyebrow.

“I pay attention. I’ve seen you clean enough wounds to know that you need hot water,” said Leonard.

“Of course,” said Gideon. “Let me know when it’s boiling.”

She left the suture kit ready to be used and went to the shelves to get down the things she needed. She collected the jars in her arms and set them down beside the fire. The room was gradually warming, but it was taking its time about it and the cold would not help Hunter at the moment.

She began the process of mixing herbs and other things, and when she was done the water was bubbling. She added the hot water and created the antiseptic that she used to cleanse wounds, and then the pain relieving medicine that she would need to ease his suffering. She had treated many wounds like Hunter’s, and not all of her patients had survived, even when she had done her best for them. A cut this deep, with this much blood lost from it, would be hard to treat.

She found herself disliking the idea that Hunter would not live, and she wondered why she suddenly cared about the Roman. It could not be solely down to him protecting her, although that had definitely helped. She realised that before she had discovered that he had been one of the Romans at Ynys Mon, she had been starting to like him. She had been impressed by his refusal to divulge his secrets, and the way he would not compromise his honour or beliefs. She had seen the tender way that he put his lips to the picture of his wife. She had observed the actions of a human being, not a soldier.

With her potions and salves prepared, she moved back to her patient, turning her thoughts back to his treatment. She should concentrate on that for now and worry about everything else once he was on the way to recovery.

“I could use your help,” she said to Leonard, and the Briton returned to her side, with a curt nod. “Raise his head for me. I don’t want him to choke.”

Leonard did as asked without comment, and she put the cup of medicine to Hunter’s lips. She dribbled a little into the injured man’s mouth and he swallowed. It was a laborious process, and eventually he turned his head away and refused more. She had hoped he would take all of it but the amount he’d drunk was better than nothing. He was shivering now, and his skin was pale, most likely that was because of the loss of the red blood from within him. She was aware that neither the shivering nor his pallor was a good sign.

“I’m sorry,” she said to him, even though she doubted he could hear her. “This is going to hurt because I can’t wait any longer to clean this.” The pain medicine would not be working yet, but the longer she left it the higher the chance of the wound going bad. She turned back to Leonard. “I may need you to hold him down.”

He nodded. “Let’s get this over with. I could do with some food and sleep.” He repositioned himself so that Hunter was flat on his back again and he could press down on him as required.

“Ready?” asked Gideon.

“Do it,” replied Leonard.

Gideon ignored Hunter’s yells of pain as she poured the antiseptic over the wound, and Leonard held his arms down to prevent him from harming her or himself. She was actually quite thankful when he properly fell into deeper unconsciousness and she could stitch his side without it hurting him more. She applied the healing salve and then rebandaged the wound with clean cloths. The best thing for him now would be to sleep and heal. She pulled the blankets back over him, covering his shivering form.

Leonard left her to her work and made up two beds for them. They ate the bread that they had in their packs and both settled down to sleep. Gideon had placed her bed so that she was right beside Hunter’s cot. He would need more pain medicine in the night, and she fully expected to be awoken by his discomfort later. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but at least she could then ease his hurt. She closed her eyes and did her best to sleep.

***

Gideon was awoken by someone talking. It took her a moment to realise that she was not in her home, but the druid’s hut. She looked around and realised that Leonard was nowhere to be seen. Her forehead creased with puzzlement, but perhaps he had stepped out to relieve himself. The fire was burning down and she added a new piece of wood to it. They were getting low on firewood. It was Hunter who had spoken, and he seemed to be mumbling something now, although she couldn’t make out what it was. She put a hand on his forehead and found that it was hot to her touch. He had taken a fever, which was entirely predictable, but still not good news.

She set the pot of water onto the fire again and began to brew a new batch of medicine to help with the pain. Hunter definitely needed it.

“ne moriantur rogo…” her patient said. There was clear distress in his tone.

“Hunter?” asked Gideon.

“ne moriantur rogo” said Lacerius. “Rogo! Diana, rogo.”

Gideon sighed. She couldn’t understand him. She poured the hot water over the herbs and mixed it well.

“Mea uxor et filium custodiat,” he mumbled.

“Hunter, you need to speak Brittonic. I can’t understand Latin,” said Gideon. She needed Leonard, and wondered again where he’d gone. It was the middle of the night.

“Nocet,” he murmured, unhappily. “Nocet.”

“It will all be well, Agrippa,” she said.

She took a cloth, wetted it and wiped the sweat from his forehead, then she peeled away the blanket and wiped his neck and chest. He was far too hot, and all she could do was try to make him slightly more comfortable. He shivered under her touch.

“Mandata captate,” he said, turning his head away from her. “Forma, receptum. Ad mihi! Defendi ad parate. Non, receptum! Dixi receptum! Non!”

“Agrippa, I don’t know what you’re saying, but you’re safe here,” said Gideon. She should probably get him to drink more, and the extra pain reducing effects of the medicine she’d mixed into the water would certainly help. She raised his head and trickled some of the medicine into his mouth. He swallowed automatically, which pleased her.

“Well done, just a little more,” she said, and tried the same manoeuvre again, but this time he coughed and choked. She sighed.

“Nocet,” he said, again.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “I can’t help you if you won’t speak the right language.”

“He says it hurts,” said a voice from the doorway. Gideon turned to see Leonard standing there, she’d been so focused on Hunter that she hadn’t heard him approach. He moved further into the hut with an arm full of wood and began stoking the fire.

Hunter was mumbling again, and she could tell that Leonard was listening.

“And now he’s telling someone to retreat. Issuing orders I think…” Leonard shrugged. “I don’t think it’s a good dream or memory or whatever it is.”

“I can’t get him to take the medicine,” said Gideon. “He needs to drink the entire cup, but the fever is making him delirious. I don’t think he’s even really conscious that I’m trying to help him. Perhaps if you were to help me sit him up?”

Leonard finished adding more wood to the fire, and rather grudgingly came over to help Gideon. She’d thought about propping Hunter against the hut’s wall, but it was too rough and would hurt his bare skin.

“Lean him against me,” said Leonard, sitting down on the cot with his back to the wall.

Gideon nodded and made to move Hunter, hooking her arms under his shoulders. He protested, trying to weakly move away, but Leonard shuffled into place and helped by pulling him back towards himself. Gideon was as gentle as she could be, but the groan of painful unhappiness let her know that she wasn’t entirely successful. Still, Leonard was now supporting him and perhaps she could get the rest of the medicine into him.

She pressed the cup to his lips and tilted it, again he choked.

“You need to drink,” said Gideon. “It will make you feel better.” She looked at Leonard. “Can you tell him in Latin?”

“Yeah, I think so,” he said. “Bibe, idiot. Gideon’s trying to help you.”

“Agrippa, bibe,” said Gideon, and held the cup to his mouth again. This time he did seem to have understood and he swallowed the water mixed with herbs.

“What are you giving him?”

“Belladonna, honeysuckle and birch,” said Gideon. “I doubt his dreams will be pleasant, but at least he’ll be in less pain and hopefully his fever will come down.”

It was one of her stronger concoctions, and it was essential to get the dosage right, because belladonna could kill a man if too much was used. Even at lower doses, he’d probably hallucinate and he’d need to be watched to make sure he didn’t end up hurting himself.

“Maria, non bene sentio,” he said, quietly.

Leonard raised his eyebrows.

“What did he say?” asked Gideon.

“Maria, I don’t feel well,” supplied Leonard.

She slowly got him to drink the remainder of the contents of the cup, and he seemed to lapse into unconsciousness for a while. Leonard laid him down on the cot again.

“It’s like holding a firebrand,” said Leonard.

Gideon nodded, wetting her cloth again. “If his fever doesn’t break soon then he won’t survive this.”

“Well, that won’t do,” said Leonard, which surprised her somewhat.

“Why do you care? You wanted him dead,” Gideon pointed out.

“Yes, and then he went and saved your life,” replied Leonard. “Maybe he’s not as far gone as I thought. Besides, I’d like to keep on Sara’s good side, and she seemed keen that we keep him alive.”

“There’s nothing more that I can do other than keep on doing what I’ve been doing,” said Gideon. “It’s up to him now. It all comes down to whether he has the strength of will to survive.” She frowned and shook her head.

“You don’t think he wants to live?” asked Leonard.

“Would you? He’s our slave. You put him in chains,” said Gideon. The manacles were still around Hunter’s wrists, and his ankles had the leg irons around them with the chain links attached, and clinked as he moved.

Leonard glared at Gideon. “He’s a prisoner of war. He’s lucky to be alive at all. If he’d met me and not Raymond then I’d have killed him on the spot.”

“Then it’s just as well that he didn’t!” replied Gideon, crossly.

Leonard gave Gideon what she interpreted as a disappointed look. “All I’m saying is that it would have been easier on everyone.”

“Except Hunter,” said Gideon. The man in question moaned and seemed to be muttering orders again. Gideon wiped the damp cloth over his forehead. “Shush, shush, it will all be well.”

“We need to tell him who he is,” said Leonard, unexpectedly.

Gideon gave him a look of annoyed incredulity. “You’re bringing this up now? That’s a very sudden change of tune. I didn’t think you even believed that he’s Prince Miccio.”

Leonard gave her a nonchalant half shrug. “Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t, but he deserves to be told of the possibility.”

Hunter twisted away in his sleep, and cried out. “Receptum!”

Gideon soothed him again and he seemed to calm as she shushed him again and told him everything would be well. She looked daggers at Leonard.

“Let’s get him through the night first. You should sleep. I’ll stay awake and tend to him.”

Leonard didn’t say anything to that, but he stoked the fire one last time, then he tiredly got to his feet and walked to his makeshift bed of blankets, shaking his head. He settled himself down, and Gideon could see that he was soon asleep. She pulled her own blanket around her shoulders, and once more wiped the wet cloth over Hunter’s burning skin.

“You listen to me, Centurion. Today is not the day you go to be with your family. Today you fight. I think we’re only just beginning to meet the real Hunter, and I want to get to know him. I don’t care what you did in the past. I owe you my life and I will repay that debt by keeping you alive. It’s a matter of professional honour at this point. What kind of druid would I be if I can’t deal with a simple fever?”

Hunter’s eyes suddenly flicked open, and she was staring into their sea green depths, each one glassy with fever. She didn’t know if he really saw her at all, but then he murmured her name.

“Gideon. Non bene sentio.”

He was still speaking in Latin, but then for a moment he seemed to look past her. He reached out a hand to her, and she took it without thinking. He spoke in thickly accented Brittonic. It reminded her of the way her father had spoken. She had never heard him sound so much like a member of the Catuvellauni.

“The fire was so hot, I couldn’t get to her. I tried…”

And then he closed his eyes and was unconscious once more, leaving Gideon with yet more questions.

***AD 30***

“She is marrying Sejanus!” shouted Drusus. “Livilla is marrying Sejanus.” He waved a piece of parchment in the air. It had the letters of an epistle of rejection on it, and Drusus was distinctly unhappy.

The man that he was ranting at rolled his eyes. “I told you she was stringing you along. You may be of the patrician class, but your family has never even held the consulship. Women of the Julian bloodline don’t marry men like you.”

“And yet she is happy to sleep with me whenever I am in Rome,” pointed out Drusus. “And I mean for my family’s fortunes to change. Livilla’s your cousin. Can’t you do something?”

The dark-haired man shook his head. “I have my own problems. They barely acknowledge my existence. And Sejanus has been her lover for some time. Tiberius calls him the “partner of his labours”. The Emperor will pick him as his successor any day now. It’s a shame that you have no children that you could marry off appropriately. That might be your best hope now.” There was a rather horrible smirk forming on his companion’s face.

“ _I_ was supposed to have returned to Rome and placed myself in position to be declared his successor by this point. Tiberius is weak and he will fall soon.” He paced back and forth, crossing the rich tapestry that served as a carpet for his tent. “Instead, I am stuck here on this gods forsaken island, where there are no opportunities for either glory or honour. This is disastrous. All my plans are ruined because these Britons somehow rally behind this King Fast Metal, when they are supposed to be in disarray.”

Drusus was despairing. His dreams were quickly slipping through his fingers as his mission in Britannia took more and more time. He needed to be in Rome where the action was, and to be there before Tiberius died or Sejanus wrestled too much power from the hands of the aging emperor.

“His name is King Meinitrekki, and that translation is inaccurate, as you well know, General Drusus.”

“That is the least of my concerns. I need a new plan of action. A better strategy.” Drusus sat down on his chair with annoyance. He pondered the maps set out on the table in front of him.

“Your problem is his promise to the tribes. He has offered them gold and you cannot match his price,” replied his companion.

“Yes, and I cannot find out where this gold has come from. The rumour is that only the King has the location of the mine,” said Drusus, with frustration.

“I could bring you my men, but I’d want something in return…”

Drusus’ head whipped up. “You would bring me the Vandals? And they would be under my command?”

Savage gave his friend a slow smile. “Of course, I am Savage Chief of the Vandals, as well as Gaius Julius Fero Vandalicus, but I’d want my rightful place in Rome. I want to be declared a legitimate son of the Julians. And a share of whatever gold you find. Let’s say… ten percent of it, I don’t want to be greedy.”

Drusus smirked now. “Of course. You won’t need my gold if you’re declared to be of the Julian line, especially not once I’m done in Rome. If you help bring me King Meinitrekki then that should all be easy enough. But! Only if we take the King. He and his rebellion must be utterly crushed with no chance that it will ever rise again. I want him and his gold. It will fund a new campaign for the Emperorship. If I am the richest man in Rome then how will anyone be able to defeat me, and I will civilise the entire world. There will be no corrupt emperors who use their victories to gain their seat in the palace and then leave the job undone.”

Savage regarded the General. “Very well, General Drusus. I will send word. My men will be at your command within the month. We will put an end to this ridiculous uprising.”


	7. Universi Vincuntur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I play with dates in this chapter, so historical inaccuracies abound.
> 
> Caer Ludein (which is the most likely name for the town before Roman occupation) was probably not taken over by the Romans until about 47AD, when it was given the name Londinium, and it had probably been only sparsely occupied by the Catuvellauni at that point. There is evidence of human occupation on the site of modern London that dates back to 4800BC, but those settlements were likely quite small. Roman Londinium was, in fact, sacked by the Iceni in 60 or 61AD because it was a major Roman town by that time.
> 
> It is more likely that the seat of power for the Catuvellauni was Verlamion, modern St Albans, although they definitely occupied the area where Caer Ludein stood. However, it is completely true that the kings of the Catuvellauni during this period fought against the Roman invaders, and caused the Romans a great deal of trouble. A king of the Catuvellauni was also the first to forge coins in Verlamion.
> 
> Tacitus writes in his Agricola that one of the reasons that the Britons were so easily conquered was because they never managed to form alliances between the various tribes, of which there were many. Even the Catuvellauni, the dominant tribe in the area, were not large enough to stand against the armies of Rome alone, and were eventually conquered.
> 
> And a quick apology for the huge time between updates. I'm still writing, but life is just getting in the way.

* * *

 

“rarus duabus tribusve civitatibus ad propulsandum commune periculum conventus: ita singuli pugnant, universi vincuntur.”

“Rarely will two or three tribes confer to repulse a common danger. Accordingly they fight individually and are collectively conquered.”

Tacitus, Agricola - Bk 12

***AD 61***

Whilst the raid of the supply cart had gone exactly as planned, the aftermath had not. They had camped out for the night, thinking that they had a good enough head start on anyone who might be looking for them, but Meinitrekki found himself and his band of rebels being hunted. The front of the Roman column had turned around more quickly than he’d expected, but it was probably simply bad luck that their enemy had moved in their direction. They had seen the Romans in the distance, but much closer than they had thought they would be. And if they could see the Romans, then there was a strong chance that the Romans could see them.

An hour of marching across the long grass of an undulating plain proved that they had been spotted and identified as a target of interest. A group as large as theirs in this area was unusual enough that certainly the Romans would want to stop them and probably search their possessions. At least some of the Romans had horses and it looked like a group had been dispatched to investigate. If they kept moving then they might manage to stay ahead of them, given the lead that they had, but Meinitrekki didn’t want to take chances with the lives of the men and women under his command.

There were woods nearby and Meinitrekki made the decision to head into the cover. The trees would slow them down, but they would also provide places for them to hide, and they had the advantage of knowing the terrain around here well, and much better than any Romans.

“Into the woods!” he ordered his band, and his men and women complied without so much as a murmur of dissent.

He was proud of them. They had been together a long time, and they trusted him with their lives, even though what they were doing was difficult and dangerous. It often got little recognition, and the villagers disliked them because they caused trouble, bringing down the wrath of the Romans upon them. In some of the other parts of the country that were more firmly under Roman rule, the populace had been cowed into submission and preferred to live a quiet life that didn’t include rebels attacking Roman supply lines. There were parts of Britain that were practically Rome, and Meinitrekki didn’t like the thought of that spreading further across his beloved homeland.

Glaswilla was bringing up the rear as he always did, and he had his bow trained on any movement that caught his eye. If they were lucky then the Romans would choose not to enter the woods. If they were unlucky then a squad would be dispatched to continue chasing them. Meinitrekki saw his friend duck behind a tree and he signalled for everyone to take cover.

Meinitrekki and his rebels were veterans of a long war, they immediately heeded the command and hunkered down. Meinitrekki then saw what had made Glaswilla give the signal to hide. Coming from further along the woods, but now on the open path, was a Roman soldier, his wrists tied together with rope. He was shouting and gesturing wildly towards the woods from which he’d just come.

Meinitrekki shuffled forwards and into position beside Glaswilla, his eyes trained on the lone soldier.

“Can you understand what he’s saying?”

“A little,” said Glaswilla, whispering. “It’s too far away for me to catch it all and he’s speaking too quickly for me to keep up properly. He’s asking for help, perhaps saying something about being attacked… it’s hard to make out. His squad were killed, he’s been walking all night. He’s talking about a Roman helping them, his attackers I mean, a Centurion from the Twentieth. He gave them a name, but I didn’t catch it. I think it meant something to them though.”

Then Glaswilla paused.

“The Tribune, the guy on the horse, he just mentioned Consul Drusus and told one of his men to send a message to Castra Apex Evanescens.”

Meinitrekki couldn’t believe what he’d heard for a moment. “Are you seriously telling me that we just learned the Consul’s location from listening in to a chance encounter between some Romans that were chasing us and a victim of bandits?”

Glaswilla nodded. “It seems so, but who knows for how long he’ll be there.”

“This is a breakthrough, Glas!” whispered Meinitrekki with barely controlled delight. “We can finally get to him.”

“Yes, finally,” said Glaswilla. “But we won’t stand a chance against an entire fort full of Romans. We’re going to need a good, well thought out plan. No frontal assaults.”

Meinitrekki gave Glaswilla a roll of his eyes. “That was once! Are you ever going to let me live it down?”

Glaswilla allowed himself a slight smile. “Probably not.” He indicated the road with an inclination of his head. “We should move before they remember they were chasing us.”

“Good idea.”

The encounter did seem to be slowing their pursuers down. There appeared to be a very detailed discussion going on, but the wind had changed, and it was impossible to hear their voices now. The Romans were distracted and still far enough away that, if they were very careful, they could disappear into the dense forest behind them.

Meinitrekki signalled his band to quietly retreat further away from the road where the Romans were still talking. They very cautiously slunk away, being careful to make as little noise as possible. The going was more difficult, and slower as they often needed to make their own path, but at least they were probably safer amongst the trees.

“We’re getting low on water,” said Glaswilla, after they’d been walking for a couple of hours.

“There’s a stream to the north of here,” said Meinitrekki. “Assuming I haven’t lost my bearings completely.”

“No, I agree,” replied Glaswilla, “we can fill our waterskins and carry on from there. These supplies can be distributed in Venta Medi or Venta Trosdi. We have enough friends there that will help us. Although perhaps we should consider making some friends at Venta Untaridi, it’s closer to us here. If we’re going to be in this area it might be worth doing.”

Meinitrekki nodded. “I’ve heard that their Queen is quite impressive in battle, but perhaps we should stick to our known routes this time. I don’t want anything to jeopardise the opportunity we have here. Then we can work out what our next move should be. I have a few ideas.” He grinned, showing off his unusually white teeth.

“Of course you do,” said Glaswilla, patting his friend on the shoulder.

“Perhaps Sulis is finally smiling upon the Catuvellauni,” said Meinitrekki.

“We can but hope,” replied Glaswilla, but Meinitrekki noted that he didn’t seem quite as excited by the news that Drusus was close. Still, he usually came around, or he tagged along for the ride to see how badly things might go. Sometimes Meinitrekki wasn’t sure which it was, but he did know that he wouldn’t be alive now if it weren’t for Glaswilla.

He was drawn back to the night of the sack of Caer Ludein, to the fires and dead. He had found the body of his wife, Glaswilla’s sister, in the remains of their home, and he had nearly broken down with grief and rage. Glaswilla didn’t hear the news until later, by which point they were chasing down Drusus in a futile attempt to reclaim Miccio. Alas it was not to be, but their friendship had stood that test and it continued to be strong against all adversity.

Meinitrekki knew how lucky he was to have a friend like Glaswilla, but he also knew they had the hardest part yet to come. They wanted their revenge upon Drusus for everything that the Roman had taken from them, but that revenge wouldn’t come easily. Meinitrekki hoped that the last casualty in the sack of Caer Ludein wouldn’t be his friendship with Glaswilla. He hoped that the last casualty would be Drusus himself.

Only time would tell whether his hopes had foundations.

***

Hunter had slept fitfully, with feverish dreams causing him to be restless. He had continued to murmur in Latin, never once dropping back into Brittonic again. Gideon was almost certain that his brain would be boiled before the fever could break, and the former Centurion would die, but he didn’t stop breathing. Hunter struggled onwards, taking short and shallow breaths, while glassy, damp eyes occasionally fell open and darted around, before falling closed again. She didn’t think that he was aware in those moments, and he certainly showed no signs of recognition.

As the dawn began to creep under the door, its rosy fingers reaching out their new light, Hunter’s fever broke. He had endured the entire night, and Gideon had seen lesser men succumb far more quickly. Hunter refused to let go though, and it appeared that her worries about whether he had enough willpower to survive had been unfounded. He dropped into a deep and, hopefully, restful sleep finally, and Gideon also allowed herself to sleep. She lay down on the blankets that she’d prepared earlier and closed her eyes.

She was awoken by shouting. Leonard was standing beside Rip’s bed, speaking in Latin.

“Ne moriantur rogo!” shouted Hunter, which she’d heard him say the previous night.

Leonard was shaking a shoulder, trying to wake him, she assumed. She couldn’t understand what either of them were saying.

“Bene est, Agrippa,” said Leonard, in the most soothing tone she’d ever heard him use with an adult.

Suddenly, Hunter’s eyes flew open, and whatever he had been about to say died on his lips. His skin was still pale, his eyes rimmed with red and bloodshot, a thin sheen of sweat covered his body and he moved with obvious discomfort. He became utterly still as his eyes processed who was standing next to his bed.

“Leonard,” he croaked. “Ubi sum? Quid tu facis?” He frowned, his brow furrowing like a ploughed field. “Sorry, where am I? What are you doing?”

Gideon was stiff after spending the night on the floor next to Hunter’s bed, but she levered herself up into a sitting position. Her brain was working slowly this morning because she hadn’t really had enough sleep.

“You’re in Gideon’s druid’s hut, and I was waking you up from what seemed to be quite an unpleasant nightmare,” said Leonard. “At least I assume any dream in which the words “please don’t let them be dead” are shouted several times is one you’d rather not continue.”

Hunter lifted a hand to his face and rubbed at his eyes. “You assume correctly,” he said. “I don’t remember much after we left the clearing where we fought the Roman patrol.”

Gideon moved closer. “Your wound was worse than I thought. You collapsed and have been feverish all night.”

Hunter looked over at her now. “That would explain why I don’t feel terribly well.”

“You lost a great deal of blood, and the wound had festered,” said Gideon. “I cleaned it and dressed it, although it will need doing again, perhaps re-stitching too. If the thread is left in too long then it makes the wound worse.”

“I know, I remember from the camp hospital,” said Hunter, his eyes turning to stare at the ceiling.

His voice was still dry and weak, so Gideon moved to stoke the dying fire and boil water. She found that they only had just enough water left from the previous night to make Hunter’s medicine. She would need more to clean the wound and brew tea, but at least she could make him something to ease his pain again. She began the process of mixing up the required herbs, and got them ready for when the water was hot enough to mix them.

“Leonard, could you fetch water while I make Hunter’s medicine and our breakfast,” said Gideon.

Leonard nodded. “Then we should think about moving on. We left that soldier tied up in the woods, and he’s probably found his friends by now and spun them some sob story. They’ll be looking for the people that attacked them.”

“Hunter isn’t well enough to travel yet,” said Gideon. “He should not be moved, he could reopen the wound, and that might kill him.”

“I will manage,” said Hunter, and he tried to push himself upwards on his elbows, but his strength failed him, and he gracelessly crashed back into the blankets of his bed with a groan.

“Sure you will,” said Leonard, sarcastically. “I think we need a new plan.”

Hunter sucked in a pained breath, looking as if he was very sore. Gideon would have had more sympathy if he hadn’t brought it upon himself by trying to move after she had just said that he shouldn’t.

“Perhaps,” replied Hunter, trying to regain his previous composure. “We might be lucky; the soldier may not have reached a Roman camp or fort yet.”

“I doubt our luck is that good,” said Leonard. “I’ll get the water. Think about it, and we can decide what to do when I get back.”

“Very well,” said Gideon.

Hunter just let out a small, frustrated huff, and then winced as his injured side probably hurt from the movement again. Leonard grabbed a couple of buckets and headed out of the hut.

“He seems rather more friendly this morning,” said Hunter. “Did I miss something?”

“I think you scared him by nearly dying on us, and there was the small matter of you stepping in front of a sword for me,” replied Gideon, moving to look at Hunter’s wound.

“I couldn’t very well let them kill you,” said Hunter.

“I’m a Britton, you Romans have been killing us all your lives,” she replied, perhaps more harshly than she meant to.

“I know, and I am trying to make amends for that,” replied Hunter, his eyes dropping.

His answer surprised her a little, she had expected some kind of brazen rebuttal but apparently he was past that. He looked rather guilty in fact.

She gently removed the bandages to reveal the red, angry wound beneath, and the slight puffiness of the skin around the stitches didn’t make her at all happy. She let out a disappointed hum before she could stop herself.

“That bad?” he asked, wincing once more as the cloth was pulled away from his side.

“Better than it was,” said Gideon, “but still not as clean as I had hoped. You may continue to have a low fever for a while until you’ve burnt through the worst of the sickness. At least you’re not delirious any longer, or shouting in your sleep.”

Hunter let out a mirthless laugh, muted and small. Even that seemed to pull on the wound and hurt him though. Gideon decided that the water was probably hot enough to make the painkilling draft, so she attended to that.

“I’m sorry. I imagine that you heard many things that both you and I would rather you had not,” said Hunter.

“Mostly you spoke in Latin,” said Gideon, her mind mostly on the task before her.

“Mostly?” asked Hunter, picking up on a detail that Gideon hadn’t intended to let slip.

She frowned as she finished her mixing and brought the cup over to Hunter.

“Here, drink this,” she said, remembering how much harder this had been the night before.

Hunter gave her a look, definitely wanting an answer to his question, but he attempted to get into a position to drink without further discussion. Gideon helped to raise his head up enough for him to drink. It was difficult but eventually he finished the whole cup of the medicinal liquid. The awkwardness had the added beneficial side effect of giving Gideon time to come up with an answer to Hunter’s question though, or rather a new deflection.

“Who is Maria?” asked Gideon.

“She was the house slave who looked after me. She taught me how to read and write, how to do mathematics and how to be a well behaved Roman,” said Hunter, with a small, fond smile. He also seemed to accept that a name counted as not exactly Latin. “With my father away for much of the time, she was the closest thing that I had to family.”

Gideon frowned, and Hunter misinterpreted her look. She was actually wondering how a woman could raise a child and never tell them the truth about where they came from, but she supposed things were different in Rome.

“It wasn’t that bad,” said Rip. “Maria was very kind to me, and my father did the best he could to be there.”

“Do you remember much before Drusus took you in?” she asked. For a second she hesitated and then she ploughed onwards. “You said that you’d tried to reach someone but the fire was too hot.”

It was Hunter’s turn to frown. “My birth family were killed in a fire…”

He seemed to drift away from the room for a moment, getting a faraway look in his eyes.

“What is it?” asked Gideon. “Do you need more painkillers?”

He took a moment to come back to her.

“Er, no. Thank you. I’m fine. I just keep getting these flashes of memory… Maybe it’s the medicine.” He shook his head.

“What kind of memories?”

“A burning building, a woman with auburn hair the same colour as mine and green eyes… I think she was my mother,” said Hunter. “I haven’t thought about her in years, and now… it’s as if something keeps bringing her memory to the surface.”

Gideon didn’t think that she could keep the fact that Hunter was probably a member of the Catuvellauni from him any longer. It seemed cruel and unnecessary. She opened her mouth to speak, but just as she was about to do so the door was flung open and Leonard entered, his hands up, palms open. Behind him was a man in a blue cloak, who had auburn hair and held a sword to Leonard’s back.

“Leonard?” asked Gideon, perplexed.

Hunter was attempting to move, looking for his own non-existent sword purely out of instinct, but Gideon pushed him back down onto the cot easily. He glared at her.

“I found us some friends. They wanted to know what I was doing with a Roman sword…” said Leonard. “They think I’m a Roman spy!” He sounded really quite aggrieved by that.

“Fantastic!” said Hunter, with acerbic sarcasm.

Gideon could now see that the man was not alone. A blond-haired man in a rather intricately embroidered cloak stood behind him, also with his sword drawn.

“You do not need to draw your swords,” said Gideon. “There are only three of us and one of our number is wounded.”

“What are you doing here?” asked the blond man.

“I’m a druid and this is where I come to gather certain herbs. These two are my guard. Leonard was just fetching water to help treat Hunter’s wound.” Gideon did her best to come across as reasonably as possible.

“You’re Catuvellauni,” said the man with the sword at Leonard’s back.

“Yes, once. Now I’m part of the Waverider tribe,” said Gideon.

The man sheathed his sword. “We’re also Catuvellauni. My name is Teodor.”

“It is good to meet you, Teodor. I’m Gideon, druid to the Waverider tribe. This is Leonard son of Snart, and Hunter.”

Leonard visibly breathed out with relief as he put his hands down and moved closer to Gideon. However, he also exchanged a quick raised eyebrow with her as she failed to give them Hunter’s status.

“Finally,” said Leonard. “I suppose you actually believe me now.”

“We’ll see,” said the blond man. “You can call me Miccio. There are a lot of Romans about.”

“Possibly my fault,” mumbled Hunter, and then groaned as he tried to push himself up into a sitting position. Gideon didn’t think he’d spoken loud enough to be heard by their guests, and potentially fever was still addling his brain.

“Stay down and keep quiet,” said Gideon, with annoyance. “You’re not well enough to sit up yet, and you should save your strength.”

“Why do you have a Roman sword?” asked the man who had introduced himself as Miccio. He had fixed Leonard with a cutting look.

“We came across a patrol. They took exception to Gideon being a druid and we defended her. Apparently the Romans have a blanket order to kill all druids on sight. That didn’t go so well for them.”

“Or me,” Hunter bit out, with a sigh as he gave up trying to sit and let out another, rather frustrated groan.

“So you took the sword as a trophy?” asked Miccio.

Leonard shook his head. “I don’t know about where you come from, but the Untaridi can’t afford to waste metal.”

Miccio huffed, but seemed satisfied by the answer.

“You can’t stay here,” said Teodor. “The Romans are coming in this direction.”

“We are from Venta Untaridi. We came here because we needed to hide Gideon,” said Leonard.

“The Romans have searched Venta Untaridi,” said Teodor, “but they’ve given up on searching the towns and are scouring the surrounding country now.”

“Why would they do that…?” Hunter mused, quietly. He was tiring quickly, probably at least partially from the excitement and the additional medicine that Gideon had given him. “Drusus wouldn’t know anyone was out here to find.”

“They’re after us,” said Miccio. “We raided a supply cart. How do you know about Drusus?”

“We have scouts,” said Leonard, before Hunter could say anything. “They’ve been keeping tabs on the Romans. They’re up to something. Why would you be so _stupid_ as to raid a supply cart? You know they’ll hunt you down.”

Teodor laughed at that. “They’ve been trying, but we’ve been at this a while.”

“I’m glad you find it amusing, but I don’t,” said Leonard, tersely. “They don’t need more cause to kill us.”

“They’re only interested in us, believe me,” said Miccio. “And the more we take from them the harder we make it for them to stay here. This is our land.”

“We’re Britons the same as you! We’ve all lost people, and now we’re just trying to survive, which we can’t do if you bring down the entire Roman army on us!” Leonard’s voice was raised and angry, and that wouldn’t help the situation.

“Enough!” said Gideon, sharply. “We don’t have time to debate strategy. It isn’t safe for any of us to stay here, and Hunter isn’t well enough to even get up.”

“I’ll be fine…” said Hunter, but Gideon could tell that the medicine was making him a little loopy and his eyes were still glassy with fever.

“I told you to be quiet, and no, you are not fine,” replied Gideon.

Leonard let out a long sigh. “The Romans should have left Venta Untaridi by now. We can all head back there. We should have enough men that we can carry Hunter.”

Teodor was nodding. “We can make a stretcher.”

“He’ll need to be kept warm,” said Gideon. “And he needs to eat and drink before we move him.”

“It’ll take us a few moments to cut the wood for the stretcher and bind the cloth to it,” said Teodor.

Miccio nodded. “Tend to your guard while we sort out his transport. I agree, we should move on.”

Hunter had closed his eyes and although he didn’t seem to be sleeping, he wasn’t really awake either. He murmured something and Gideon’s blood ran cold for a second as she realised that he was speaking in Latin again. Luckily it was so quiet that none of the others had heard him. Gideon was worried though. If he spoke Latin within the hearing of their new acquaintances then she had no idea how they would act.

Leonard and the others left the hut to make the required stretcher, which meant that Gideon had a few moments alone with Hunter.

“Hunter,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I need you to drink and eat. We’re going to be on the road soon.” He didn’t respond, so she tried the word that Leonard had taught her. “Bibe, Hunter.”

Hunter pulled his eyes open again.

“Mea culpa est,” he murmured, but at least there was no one to hear him this time.

“I don’t understand,” said Gideon.

“Propter me, Romani venient,” he said, as if he expected her to understand if he rephrased. He sighed. “Stercus! Cur non intelligis?” He looked frustrated.

Gideon shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re saying. I think the medicine is making it hard for you to think. I’ll get the water and bread.”

She moved away and collected up what she needed, then she set about propping up Hunter enough with some folded blankets that he could drink and eat. It wasn’t exactly an easy task, but she persuaded her patient to sip some nettle tea and eat some of the supplies that they’d brought with them. Hunter seemed to have given up his attempts to communicate for the moment, and he ate quietly, only nodding in thanks for Gideon’s assistance.

She took one last look at his wound, and decided that she had done the best she could for the journey. Hopefully being carried in a stretcher wouldn’t be too arduous for him, but if she’d had her way then she’d have waited at least another day before moving him. The pulling on the wound that movement would cause was going to be painful and not beneficial to swift healing. She sighed.

Hunter frowned. “Gideon, gaudeo…” He frowned, and his brow wrinkled in deep thought. “I am gaudeo… glad. I am glad that I met you, even if I am paenitet...” He stopped and concentrated again. “Even if I am sorry… I am sorry for the things that feci.” He closed his eyes for a second. “I did. I am sorry for the things that I did.”

Gideon didn’t like the finality with which Hunter spoke. It was as if he felt that he needed to tell her this because he was worried that he might not have another chance.

“I’m glad that I have met you too, Agrippa,” said Gideon, deliberately using his name.

“I have a lot to be paenitet for,” he said, and Gideon got the gist even though he’d substituted the Latin word. “I understand why you all hate me. I have a lot to seek your forgiveness for.”

“I don’t hate you. And I think people may see you differently when I tell them that you saved my life.” Gideon once again rested a hand on his shoulder.

Hunter let out a harsh approximation of a laugh at that, and then a groan. “I doubt it.”

His voice was so quiet that she barely heard the words. She took a damp cloth and wiped away the sweat from his forehead. He’d eaten and drunk less than she would have liked but she didn’t think that she would get him to take more, he was drifting into sleep again. His lips moved, but she couldn’t make out the words, and she thought perhaps he had lapsed back into Latin again.

Leonard came back into the hut, and she was startled by his arrival, sighing as she saw who it was.

“What is it?” asked Leonard.

“He’s still not well. I’m worried that he’ll talk in his sleep…” She gave Leonard a meaningful look, glancing back towards the door. She had no idea who might be listening, so she wasn’t going to say anything too revealing.

Leonard came closer, observing their patient. He glanced over his shoulder too, and then lowered his voice. “There’s nothing to be done about it. We need to move. If it happens we’ll just have to tell them he was learning Latin or something.”

“I don’t think they’re going to believe that. They’re obviously rebels, which means they’ve been living rough and fighting the Romans at every chance they get.” Gideon gave Hunter a concerned scan, noting the still flushed skin and the way that he trembled in his sleep sometimes. She felt strangely attached to their slave, and she was now actively concerned for his wellbeing. “You’ll need to be careful when you move him. If they see the broken manacles and leg irons then there will be more questions.”

Leonard nodded, his jaw setting into a worried frown. “Tuck the blankets around him. We’ll just have to keep him well wrapped up.”

“He does need to be kept warm,” said Gideon, and then paused, considering their situation. “Are we making this worse by not telling them? And him? It seems cruel to keep his heritage from him.” She didn’t even trust herself to make the judgement now, whereas usually she was so certain of things.

Leonard shook his head. “I don’t think so. Let’s get him back to town. At least there we’ll outnumber our new friends, and we can stop them from doing something stupid.”

Gideon grimaced at the thought of how Sara would feel about unpicking this mess, but she too could see no alternative. Then the moment to discuss it was gone and Teodor entered the hut with the newly made stretcher.

“Miccio says we should get moving,” said Teodor. “Let’s get your man loaded up and be on our way.”

Gideon nodded, and carefully tucked the blankets around Hunter, making sure his wrists and ankles wouldn’t become uncovered. “I’ve given him more medicine. Hopefully he’ll sleep for the trip.”

“Good,” said Teodor. “We’ll need to keep moving to stay ahead of the Romans.”

Gideon said nothing to that. Neither Teodor nor Miccio seemed at all concerned about the man himself, only that they should get back to Venta Untaridi. She supposed that it was the best she could expect from these strangers.

She helped Teodor and Leonard to move Hunter onto the stretcher, tying three lengths of cloth around the man at his chest, pelvis and legs to prevent him from rolling out as they were travelling. It had the secondary job of keeping the blankets tightly around him so that the cuffs would not be seen. Hunter moaned in his sleep, probably feeling the pull on his stitched wound, but he didn’t wake up. Gideon was at least satisfied that they were doing the best they could to ensure that Hunter would be comfortable on the journey, even if that was very little at the moment.

Teodor and Leonard took an end each of the stretcher and lifted it. They manoeuvred the stretcher through the door and were then joined by two more of Miccio’s men to help carry Hunter. Gideon spent a few moments putting out the cooking fire in the hearth and tidying the hut, and then the group was ready to leave.

Gideon made sure that she was positioned to walk beside Hunter so that she could keep an eye on him. She had a satchel full of dried herbs at her disposal, but still had hopes that they would not be needed on the journey. However, she had decided that she should not waste this journey, so she had replenished some of her stocks from the herbs that she’d had drying in the hut from her previous visits.

The ragtag band set off down the path, back towards Venta Untaridi, and Gideon was already dreading having to explain all of this to Sara.

***

The horse skidded to a halt in the courtyard of the fort that had been designated Castra Apex Evanescens.

“I have a message for the consul!” shouted the rider, brandishing a scroll.

The Centurion on gate duty sighed, lifted himself up from the table where he had been winning a game of Alea, and shouted at his men to deal with the horse.

“The Consul is a busy man,” he told the messenger. “I’ll see that your message gets delivered.”

The messenger was already shaking his head. “No, I’m to hand it to the Consul personally. It is urgent.”

Again, the Centurion glanced back at his game, and mentally wished his good luck farewell. The streak would definitely be broken now that he’d left the table.

“I’ll take you to the camp office,” he said, and led the messenger through the fort.

Castra Apex Evanescens was really more a small town by this point. A sizeable settlement had grown up around the outside of the fort, and the Roman camp had been large even before then. It had several barracks houses inside the walls, but also a great deal of administrative buildings, including the province’s governor’s house. Recently the house had been taken over by Consul Drusus and his guest.

The Centurion did not approve of either man, but he kept that to himself. He felt that Drusus cared only for power rather than the wellbeing of his troops or his subjects, and his friend was not a proper Roman at all. The fact that he had a Roman name didn’t mean anything as far as the Centurion was concerned, nor did the obvious power that he wielded.

The Centurion entered the outer room of the camp office. A tribune sat there at a desk, looking over a large ledger that contained the finances of the camp. This man was one of the administrative officers of the camp and on the Consul’s staff.

“I have a messenger to see the Consul, sir,” said the Centurion.

“Legionary Aelius of the 2nd Augusta, sir,” said the messenger. “I have a scroll from General Spinosus for Consul Drusus.”

The Consul himself picked that moment to walk into the outer office, from the direction of his living quarters, trailed by a servant and two guards, with his guest next to him. Everyone stopped and saluted.

“What is going on here?” asked the Consul, imperiously.

“Sir, this messenger has brought you a scroll from General Spinosus with the 2nd Augusta,” said the Centurion.

“Well, hand it over!” said the Consul, with impatience.

The messenger fumbled in his bag, but produced the aforementioned scroll and handed it to Consul Drusus. The Centurion stood to attention, although he couldn’t help but see the expression that flitted across the Consul’s face as he read. It was one of sharp toothed delight.

“Fero, it looks like we might get our second chance to deal with that problem. It seems that my troublesome son is alive after all, and that our quarry is within striking distance,” said Drusus, with a rather nasty upturn of the corners of his lips. The Centurion would never call it a smile.

“How fortuitous,” replied the man addressed as Fero. “Perhaps my men can be of service.”

Drusus shook his head, however.

“No, I think this requires a more subtle approach.” He turned to the messenger. “Wait here, and I will send out word to one of my agents that I require his services.”

“Which one do you have in mind?” asked Fero, his lips dripping with enthusiasm for intrigue.

Drusus turned his attention back to Fero. “I think we require Snart’s services. He’ll find my son and bring him home. Then it will only be a matter of time before Meinitrekki will be ours too. Then this ridiculous rebellion will be at an end.”

“You trust the Briton?”

“Of course not,” replied Drusus. “But mercenaries are useful and will do anything for the right price. And Snart wants to be on the winning side, so has wisely decided that is the Romans.”

Fero smiled dangerously, showing his teeth. “Then we’ll do it your way. As long as I get to take my revenge, then we’ll both be happy.”

“That will not be a problem,” replied Drusus. “Come, I will write a missive to be sent by messenger. We should have the whereabouts of my son by tomorrow evening.” He glanced at the soldier.

Drusus rolled up the scroll again, and then held it to the flame of a nearby brazier.

“We wouldn’t want Meinitrekki to get word of our plans before we have drawn them,” said Drusus, and he led his guest away, back towards his living quarters.

The Centurion turned towards the messenger. He didn’t like what he had heard at all. In his experience, Drusus had no regard for his men and he would send them into battle without any thought to their chances of survival. He had more respect for the Consul’s son than the Consul himself. But it wasn’t his place to second guess his superiors.

“How about some wine and a game of dice while you wait for that new letter?” he said to the messenger.

The messenger nodded. It was good to at least have some respite before he had to ride out again, and the Centurion knew this.

“This godsforsaken country will be the death of me,” said the messenger.

“Of us all, probably,” replied the Centurion, and he was only half joking about that.

***AD 31***

Meinitrekki laid his sleeping son down in his bed, covered him with blankets, and then returned to the fireside. Deiana, the beautiful woman he had taken as his wife, had watched and now smiled at him. She was the sister of his most trusted advisor, Glaswilla, and he loved her dearly.

“He has your nose,” said Deiana.

“And the colour of your hair,” replied Meinitrekki, fondly. “He’s growing quickly. He’s going to be a strong Chief when he is grown.”

Deiana smiled. “He is, but that is a long time in his future. For now, we can let him play and learn his letters.”

Meinitrekki nodded. He worried though. Miccio would grow up in a world where the Romans were a constant threat to the Britons. The alliance that he had formed with the tribes was a precarious one, and founded on the promise of gold. Meinitrekki did not like its volatility, but Glaswilla, seemed to think it would hold long enough for them to deal with their Roman foes. He could only hope and pray to Sulis that he was right.

There was a shout from outside, and then a pounding on the door. Meinitrekki frowned and Deiana went to the door, standing to one side as a tribesman entered.

“King Meinitrekki! The lookouts have seen a column of Romans approaching!”

Meinitrekki, looked over at Deiana, concern deep in his blue eyes. They had not expected the Romans yet, and not all of their allies were in place yet. They had been assembling on the field outside the town of Caer Ludein and were currently vulnerable. The gold that they had been promised to retain their loyalty had yet to be mined in the quantities required.

“Go,” said Deiana. “I’ll take care of Miccio until I can find one of the other women to take him. I’ll be beside you with my sword once our son is safe.”

Meinitrekki nodded, understanding that really he had no choice. He dismissed the guard, and kissed his wife, then went to his son and placed a kiss on the sleeping boy’s forehead.

“Hopefully the lookouts are wrong and it’s another tribe coming to join our cause. The Icenii are expected any day now,” said Meinitrekki, as he fastened his cloak and picked up his sword. It had a rather extravagant hilt, inlaid with golden star shapes as a reminder that the Catuvellauni were one of the richest tribes in Britannia.

“When have the lookouts ever been wrong?” asked Deianna. “The Romans are coming, this is where we make our stand.”

Meinitrekki met his wife’s eyes, a darkness clouding his face. “All these years, you have stood beside me. Whatever tonight brings, know that I love you. And if anything happens to me, then you get Miccio somewhere safe, away from here. The tribe will rally around you, their queen, and him, their prince and future king.”

Deiana’s expression hardened, but she placed a soft hand on Meinitrekki’s chest, over where his heart was beating rapidly. “I will do what is needed to protect Miccio; you and he are the only ones in my heart this night. Now, the king must be seen to be at the front of our forces.”

Meinitrekki kissed his wife one last time, glanced at his son, fixing the happy moment in his memory, and then stepped out of his roundhouse. The guards acknowledged him as he exited and made to follow him.

“No,” he said to them. “Stay here and guard the queen and prince. I will have an entire army to defend me in a moment.”

The guards exchanged a look, but they did as ordered. His men were familiar with his rather flamboyant style, and the way that he enjoyed being seen to be in the lead. Most other tribal kings preferred to order their men around from the back of the battlefield, but Meinitrekki regarded that as a waste of his considerable talents. He always spearheaded the fight, showing his subjects how adept with a sword he was.

Meinitrekki strode away to find Glaswilla who was easily visible on the town’s defensive walls.

“What’s going on?” asked Meinitrekki. “Is it definitely the Romans?”

Glaswilla swallowed and nodded. “Yes, it’s them. General Drusus himself has been sighted. They’re serious this time, Meini.”

“Send word to our allies. We’ll assemble on the western field. We have the advantage of the slope of the hill and we can fall back to the town if we need to,” said Meinitrekki. “Take the archers, I’ll command the infantry. Make sure we have all the messengers ready to run orders between the tribes, and all the wall defences are on standby.”

“I’ve already done so,” said Glaswilla, with the beginnings of a smile. “And I have instructed the men to form up as we discussed in our plans yesterday.”

“Of course you have,” said Meinitrekki, returning the smile with an approving pat on the shoulder. Glas was as efficient a second in command as he was inventor and advisor.

He looked out across the field where their allied tribes were currently camped. In the distance he could make out the glow of torches of an approaching army, and the haze of dust that accompanied a large force of men on the march. They perhaps had half an hour before the Romans drew up their battle lines. It was barely enough time to organise themselves, but they would do their best.

“I will take my leave and see you when this fight is done,” said Glaswilla, offering an arm.

Meinitrekki clasped his best friend’s arm, and watched him walk away, shouting for his chief archers to assemble and messenger to run to the other tribes as he did so. He knew that his friend wouldn’t fail him, and the archers were in safe hands with him. Meinitrekki turned to his lead infantry man.

“Tell the men to form up, we’ve got a hard night’s fighting ahead of us,” said Meinitrekki.

“Yes, my king,” said the infantry man, and he and Meinitrekki descended from the walls together to assembled their foot forces.

Getting large groups of men together was always something of a task, but generally the infantry of the Catuvellauni were well trained and they assembled rapidly without much trouble. Meinitrekki looked to the leaders of each squad to command their own group on the battlefield. Once the fighting started then it would be hard to make tactical decisions, so everyone had to be aware of the plan before they began. In this case, Meinitrekki was secure in his knowledge that they would be victorious because they would have the advantage of numbers of the approaching Romans.

This was going to be a great victory, and Meinitrekki’s name would live on in history as the man who brought together the tribes of Briton and sent the Romans home. He shouted instructions to his men and led them out through the gates of Caer Ludein and onto the battlefield, where the sight of his allies breaking camp met him. They should have been readying their swords and instead they were packing up their tents and putting out their cooking fires.

“What are they doing? Get me a messenger.”

A messenger was summoned and sent to the chief of the nearest of the tribes, the Saighdeoir. Meinitrekki found himself stood waiting anxiously, watching the glowing torches of the Romans form up lines and prepare to fight, while he tried to work out what his allies were doing. Other messengers were sent out to the Trinovantes, the Ordovici, the Atrebates and the Meltasi.

“I have a message from Queen Moira of the Saighdeoir. They have been made a better offer and are withdrawing their offer of support,” the messenger proclaimed.

“A better offer?” asked Meinitrekki. “I don’t understand. We offered them gold.”

“The Queen says that she has yet to receive payment and therefore she owes you nothing,” added the messenger.

Meinitrekki felt the cold hand of impending disaster fold its fingers around his heart and squeeze.

“And the other tribes? They say the same?”

The messenger nodded, apologetically. “They do. Except for King Henry of the Meltasi, he sends word that they will stand with us. The Icenii and Untaridi have yet to arrive.”

One tribe would not be enough, and both the Icenii and Untaridi would now arrive too late to help him. He shook his head.

“Tell King Henry to retreat, I cannot ask him to fight with us now. We will defend Caer Ludein with the men that we have.”

More messengers were exchanged, and every moment the Romans came nearer and readied themselves more thoroughly. Meinitrekki did his best not to pace as he waited for them to get close enough that they could charge. Further word arrived from the Meltasi.

“King Henry politely declines your order to retreat, he will remain with his men to defend Caer Ludein.”

Meinitrekki chuckled. It had been only politeness to ask, but he’d never thought that Henry would leave, it wasn’t in him to do so, just as Meinitrekki would have defended Venta Medi if the situation had been reversed.

“Of course. King Henry is an honourable man and I should have known he wouldn’t leave us to our fate. We have a chance, and we can defend the walls.”

However, Meinitrekki knew that he was being optimistic for the benefit of the men and women under his command. Their real chance of defending Caer Ludein was almost none. The Romans had taken down many fortified towns that belonged to the Britons, and they had developed techniques to deal with their ditches and wooden walls. Meinitrekki was unfortunately aware that it was only a matter of time and patience for the Romans, and they had plenty of both.

“We’ll go out to meet them and then fall back to the town if we need to,” said Meinitrekki, firmly and without any indication that he was worried.

He was proud to see his men form up as they’d trained to do, with the Meltasi taking one of their flanks. Glaswilla already had the archers in place and at the ready. Meinitrekki held up his sword and indicated for the first wave of arrows to fire when Glaswilla considered the range good. Moments later he heard the sound of their flights splitting the sky.

The initial volley was short, but that was to be expected. The archers would need to find their range and he could hear Glaswilla giving them information on wind speed and direction with orders to angle higher. The second volley was on target and the first of the Romans fell.

A cheer went up from his men. They awaited his signal to charge, but Meinitrekki would let Glaswilla’s archers do their work before he ordered his infantry into battle. The few archers that belonged to the Meltasi also began to join in, their army was much smaller than that of the Catuvellauni. King Henry had wisely left a force at home to defend his own fort, and Meinitrekki did not begrudge him that. If everything had gone to plan then their numbers would have been more than sufficient. Instead they stood here amongst the abandoned camps of their allies, knowing that somehow the Romans had already taken the upper hand.

A shout came from Glaswilla, signalling that they’d exhausted their supply of arrows for now. Meinitrekki acknowledged, raising his sword once again, and shouted to his men.

“Charge!”

He began to run towards the enemy, and he had the men and women of the Catuvellauni all around him, defending their home with all their might. They closed the gap between the armies, hitting the line of Romans with ferocious anger. Swords clashed, men shouted, there were screams of victory and pain, the smell of smoke, the sharp, metallic scent of recently spilled blood, and the glow of burning torches. Meinitrekki cut down men who were much less than his equal as swordsmen. He had a number of fighters with him, who had designated themselves as his royal guard, but they knew better than to think that he really needed their help in protecting himself.

The battle was a strange kind of ordered chaos, with individual fights being fought, won and lost every minute. The Romans were more organised, holding their shields up against the Britons in unison, but it only took one Roman to fall to create a hole that the Britons could exploit. However, they lacked the armour of their attackers and were therefore more vulnerable, but the trade off was that they had the ability to move more quickly, and dodge away before a blade hit its mark.

The fight continued for some time, with the Britons seeming to hold their ground, before a change came across the battlefield.

“Vandals!” was the shout that Meinitrekki heard. “The Vandals have come!”

After that the tide turned in favour of the Romans and their allies. The mere name was enough to put fear into the Britons. Many tales were told of how the Vandals savagely destroyed their enemies and devoured the dead. They were ferocious in battle and had a reputation that even Meinitrekki preferred not to think too hard about. They also outnumbered the Catuvellauni, which when added to the already superior Roman numbers, left Meinitrekki with little choice but to rethink his attack.

His warriors were dying around him.

“Fall back!” he shouted, giving the order as loudly as he could. “Fall back behind the walls! To Caer Ludein!”

The order was repeated by his lieutenants until it was understood by even those at the other end of the battlefield.

They backed away slowly at first, disengaging from the main fight took time, but then ran for the gates. The Roman archers came into play now, and fired arrows at the retreating Britons, meaning that some of his warriors never made it back to the walls. Meinitrekki would have liked time to collect their dead, but that seemed to be an impossible wish at the moment. They could only defend the living and hope to survive the night.

The few that did survive the retreat barricaded the gate, and Meinitrekki attempted to take stock of the disaster that had fallen upon them. A good many of his warrior men and women were dead, but there were wounded to be taken care of. Their druid was already seeing to them and moving them to somewhere that they could be out of the way whilst they were treated for their wounds, not that many of them would survive. Meinitrekki was realistic about that. They would lose as many after the battle as they did during it, that was just modern warfare.

Glaswilla approached at a run looking rather concerned. The archers had replenished their stock of arrows and were firing on the approaching Vandals and Romans.

“We’re getting low on arrows, and you know what comes after this,” he said.

Meinitrekki nodded solemnly. “We will defend Caer Ludein to the last man, but we should evacuate as many of the old, the infirm, and the young as possible. Use the tunnels.”

Glaswilla met his king’s eyes. “I would rather be fighting here.”

Meinitrekki put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I know, but I need you to persuade Deiana to leave with Miccio. She won’t want to go, but one of us has to survive this.”

Glaswilla shook his head, but it was already clear that he would agree. He loved his sister and perhaps he was the only one that she would listen to. Further conversation was disrupted by shouting from the walls.

“What now?” asked Meinitrekki.

A few seconds later a fireball flying through the air and over the wall gave him his answer. The flaming ball landed in the roof of one of the many houses inside the fort and the flames caught the thatch easily.

“Sulis’ eyes! They have a catapult!” shouted Glaswilla, watching the fire. Then he turned back to his friend and spoke in a lower tone. “This is over, Meini.”

“I know,” said Meinitrekki. “Go and get my tribe and my family to safety. I will give you the time you need to escape.”

The town was now in chaos, people were running around, trying to put out the fires or simply just running away from the missiles that now flew overhead. Glaswilla looked around him and a long breath left his lips. He offered Meinitrekki his arm, and the King clasped it in the traditional gesture of brotherhood.

“I will get as many out as I can, and do my best to persuade Deiana to join them with Miccio,” said Glaswilla.

Another fiery missile flew through the air and landed on a thatched roof, setting the building alight. Both men ducked with an involuntary reaction, even though it had flown through the air high above them.

“You have to respect their technology,” said Glaswilla.

Meinitrekki gave him an unimpressed look. “Get going. The more time we waste talking the less time you’ll have to get our people to safety.”

Glaswilla nodded. He clapped Meinitrekki on the shoulder and then the two men briefly embraced, something men of lesser rank would not have been permitted to do with the king.

“Be safe,” said Glaswilla.

Meinitrekki nodded.

“You too,” and turned away from his friend as they both began shouting orders to the men and women under their command.

“Warriors to the walls!”

“Get the children to the tunnels!”

“Don’t let the Romans take Caer Ludein, hold them off!”

“Put out those fires! No, leave the houses, we don’t have time! Just the ones that block our escape.”

Meinitrekki soon lost track of Glaswilla and his group, and his voice faded into the background noises of battle. His attention was now elsewhere as the Romans put ladders to the walls, a tactic which normally would have got them nowhere as the fighters of Caer Ludein were trained to repel such an attack, but on this occasion there were simply too many enemies to deal with. He just needed to buy Glas enough time to escape with as many of the tribe as possible.

The fighting was fierce. Meinitrekki took on his fair share of opponents, pushing them back over the walls when he could, with some delight in how their attackers impaled themselves on the spikes at the base of the wall that they were trying to avoid. When he couldn’t push them back, he went one on one with them in sword fighting, and showed them how he had become the most respected King of any of the tribes of Britannia. Meinitrekki knew that they couldn’t hold the town any longer when the main gate broke in and a horde of their enemy entered like a tidal wave. General Drusus was at the front of the army, although suitably armoured and they had to know at this point that the Britons were out of arrows.

“Ut stipendium dies ad miles dabo qui captet regem!” shouted the General.

Meinitrekki only recognised one word: “regem”, and it meant “king”, so there was no doubt about who they were going to be looking for. He also knew that if they caught him then he would be taken to Rome and executed, probably after being tortured and put on display for everyone to see how easily the barbarian chief had been conquered. He wanted to avoid that, because even he had a limit to his bravery.

There was very little on his person to mark him out as the king of the Catuvellauni. He just had to rally his warriors and get them out of here without anyone realising who he was. That was easier said than done. He also needed to ensure that his family were safe, and retrieve the tribal seal. Without it no new king of the Catuvellauni could be crowned. The seal was hidden under the hearth stone of the king’s house, which was a happy coincidence because that was where Meinitrekki planned to go next.

He shouted orders to his informal guard. “Leave me, and get to the tunnels. Get as many of our people out as you can.”

“But…” began one of them.

“Do it, I’ll be there as soon as I’ve retrieved the tribal seal and made sure my family are safely on their way too.”

The guards still hesitated, but then seemed to remember who was in charge, and dissipated into the crowds of desperate people. There was the sound of the battle cry of the Vandals as they too entered the city of Caer Ludein, barely held back by the Romans from simply grabbing whatever was in their path. The fires burned bright and hot around him, and he felt the heat of hatred seep into the centre of soul. The Romans would pay for this, and so would their allies, but now he had other things to see to. He ran for his roundhouse, dodging between fleeing people and enemy soldiers.

Progress was slow, and he could see the horses of the Romans ploughing through the hordes of people, warriors and non-combatants alike. His people were being cut down and he couldn’t simply stand aside and let them be. He took down a Roman officer on horseback, breathing hard by the time he’d finished the task. This was taking far too long.

He skidded around a corner to see his worst nightmare. The ancient house that had always belonged to the chief of the Catuvellauni was on fire and he could hear Deiana’s cries for help, and Miccio’s wailing for his parents. As he watched, one of the large beams that supported the thatched roof fell down.

“No!” he shouted as he ran flat out down the street. He had to save his family. He had to.

A horse and rider suddenly blocked his path and he found himself at sword point, and swiftly surrounded by Romans.

“My Brittonic is rather hastily learnt, so you will have to forgive me if I stumble,” said a bearded man, with long, dark hair and the eyes of someone who saw no urgency in the situation. He was not dressed as a Roman, but rather something else. He didn’t appear to be wearing the traditional garb of a Vandal either, it was more a hybrid of the two. “My name is Fero, and I believe that your town is ours now. Drop your weapon.”

The point of the sword was at his throat. If he moved then his life would be ended. He allowed his hand to go limp and his sword to drop to the ground.

“My wife and son…” he said, indicating the house. “Let me save them, please.”

Another horse rode into view, and Meinitrekki recognised General Drusus. There was an exchange in Latin between the man who stood with the blade at his throat and the General. The Roman turned to a couple of his men and issued an order. They hesitated, but the General said something that made them obey and they went into the burning house.

They waited tensely, as Meinitrekki tried to think of any way that he could escape his captors, but there were too many of them. He’d never get past the first blade, and he was no good to Deiana and Miccio if he was dead.

Another part of the house fell in, and then a small miracle occurred. A tiny boy, blackened with soot and covered with burn marks crawled out from under a piece of the rubble. Drusus dismounted and scooped him up, speaking in Latin as he did so.

“The General asks if this is your son, King Meinitrekki,” said Fero.

Meinitrekki looked somewhat surprised. How did this man know who he was?

“Yes, I know you. I came here some months ago as part of the Ordovici delegation who discussed your little alliance, although I doubt you remember me. And I already know that the brat is yours.”

One of the Roman soldiers staggered from ruins of the roundhouse, and said something to Drusus before collapsing to the ground, while coughing harshly.

“He says that your wife is dead,” said the General, in rather stilted Brittonic, but there was an edge of spite to it.

“No…” whispered Meinitrekki. Deiana could not be dead, it was unthinkable.

Miccio was crying, probably in pain and Meinitrekki wanted nothing more than to go to his son, but these men would not let him approach. He tried to take a step towards him, and felt the blade press into his skin.

Drusus guided his horse towards him, Miccio slung across his saddle like he was a slaughtered lamb and of as much worth to the General. He looked to Fero, and spoke again.

Fero nodded.

“The General asks that I translate for him as his Brittonic is not as good as mine.”

Then the General spoke in Latin and then Fero repeated his words in Brittonic.

“ _You have caused me a great deal of trouble, King of the Catuvellauni_ ,” said the Roman. “ _Because of you I have lost face in Rome, and been denied a position that was rightfully mine. Your alliance has cost me dearly and I intend to make you pay for everything that I did not receive because I have dallied here longer than I intended. Where is the gold of the Catuvellauni?_ ”

Meinitrekki shook his head. “There is no gold.”

Drusus barked an order in Latin that Fero didn’t bother to translate and the General was handed Meinitrekki’s sword. He brandished it, examining the hilt, which was inlaid with gold. He brought the sword down to Miccio’s neck. The small boy appeared to have fallen into unconsciousness, which was at least one mercy.

“ _Try again. You have gold inlaid into your sword_.”

“There is no gold! We had yet to mine it. We found small deposits in the river, but that is all. That was the reason why the allies had not yet been paid…”

Meinitrekki very much regretted that deception now. At the time it had seemed to be worth it, but the gamble had failed and here he now stood facing the consequences of his actions.

“ _You are lying_!” shouted the General, and Meinitrekki barely needed to wait for the translation of that.

Drusus jumped down from his horse and dragged Miccio with him. Meinitrekki found himself pushed to his knees, as he watched his son hauled by an arm across the muddy ground. Miccio whimpered, his eyes pulling themselves open, but they hardly seemed to focus. The Roman put his sword to the boy’s neck again.

“ _This is your final chance to tell me where the gold is, or your son will die_ ,” said Drusus.

“Wait!” said Meinitrekki, “we did mine some gold, and it was forged into the tribal seal. It’s under the hearth of my house. Take it! I have no further use for it, just don’t kill Miccio, I beg you.”

Drusus threw Miccio to the ground where the child shivered and moaned. He grabbed a spear from one of the soldiers who was standing guard and then used it to push down a burning wall of the chief’s house. He pushed aside the burning wood with the spear, and levered charred beams out of his way. He ordered soldiers to help him and soon they had uncovered the hearth of the roundhouse. The stones were red hot, and Meinitrekki caught a glimpse of a body in the debris, buried under one of the large beams. He could not recognise the features because they had been too badly burned, but he did recognise the torc at her neck. The body was that of his wife and she had the gold tribal seal clutched in her hand.

Tears slid from his eyes, as the soldiers pulled the gold medallion from his wife’s lifeless hand, burning hot from the proximity of the flames. Perhaps Deiana had been trying to run for the door when the beam had fallen on her. Drusus hooked the medallion onto his sword by its gold chain.

“ _Where did the gold for this come from?_ ” he asked as he walked back towards Meinitrekki.

“I don’t know,” he answered.

Drusus’ eyes were dark and it was obvious that he didn’t believe his words. Before Meinitrekki could say anything else, Drusus had dropped the tribal seal onto Miccio’s bare shoulder, pushing it down with the flat of his sword. The boy screamed with pain as the heated medallion burnt into his flesh.

“Stop!” shouted Meinitrekki. “It’s true, I really don’t know! All I can tell you is that it’s to the north. Stop, please! You’ll kill him and then you’ll have no leverage over me.”

Drusus seemed to take that as enough and he removed the medallion, leaving Miccio still whimpering with desperate and small noises. A scar in the shape of a stag now glared in painful red flesh on Miccio’s shoulder, easily visible in the light of the fires. Again, the king tried to go to his son, but the blades wouldn’t allow him to edge even an inch closer.

Drusus took a step forward though, and met Meinitrekki’s eyes as he spoke the next words that Fero then translated.

“ _You owe me an heir since you prevented me from marrying as I intended, therefore I will take your son as my own and raise him as a Roman. I will raise him to hate your kind, to be an enemy of the Britons, and he will never know who he is until the day I bring him back here and show him his mother’s grave. As for you, I will take you to Rome where I will flay the skin from your body, pull the nails from your fingers, put out your eyes and deafen your ears. You will enter the afterlife without any of your senses intact, but not before I have paraded you in front of the entire populace of Rome in my triumph celebration.”_ He paused, no doubt to let the horror of his words sink in. _“Or you can tell me where the gold is, and I’ll let you both die swiftly on the soil of Britannia as is befitting of your rank._ ”

Meinitrekki looked Drusus directly in the eyes.

“I would rather my son lived, no matter the circumstances, even if it means my torture and death. It won’t work anyway. You can tell him that he is Roman, but he will know who he is inside. You will not really have him.”

Fero translated his reply into Latin and Drusus gave Meinitrekki a dark look. He grabbed Miccio, throwing the injured boy back over his horse. The child seemed to be unconscious now.

“So be it,” said the Roman, in his poor Brittonic. He issued orders again and Meinitrekki found himself being pushed forwards, as General Drusus rode away with his son. He was followed closely by Fero, leaving Meinitrekki in the hands of several soldiers, although still too many for him to fight.

Meinitrekki felt utter desperation. His son had been taken, and he had seen how injured he was. It would be a miracle if he lived. He had to get to him. However, suddenly Meinitrekki found himself being pushed to the ground, and the soldiers around him were abruptly occupied by an attacking force that Meinitrekki didn’t recognise. He was dazed by a blow to the head, but shook off the dizziness and tried to push himself to his feet.

Someone offered him a hand, and, when he glanced up, there was Glaswilla grinning back at him. He was accompanied by King Henry of the Meltasi and a group of his warriors.

“You looked like you could use some help,” said Glaswilla.

Meinitrekki nodded, but didn’t grin back. “The bastards took Miccio… Glas…Deiana…” and he hesitated, then he looked over at the remains of his home, where an arm still lay, protruding from the ruined wooden frame. He stumbled across the ground and found himself throwing away wooden debris and thatch so that he could reach the burnt remains of the Queen.

He knelt amongst the burning beams and held the woman who had been his wife.

“I’m sorry,” he said to her. “I’m sorry that I was too late to save you. And they have taken our son, but I will get him back. I won’t rest until they have paid for what they did here.”

Finally he let tears fall, and he heard Glaswilla fall to his knees beside him.

“Deiana… she said she would be with me after she had collected the tribal seal. I wanted to take Miccio, but he refused to leave his mother, and we thought there was still time… There were so many people who needed my help.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” said Meinitrekki. “Drusus will pay for this.”

Henry approached, and both men turned as one, ready to fight but stilled their hands as they saw who it was. “We need to leave. The Romans have taken most of the town. We’re running out of time.”

Meinitrekki shook his head. “They have my son!”

“We’ll get him back, Meini, but not today,” said Glaswilla, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “They were on horseback, protected by a cohort of men. We can’t fight Drusus this way. We need to regroup, find out how many of us are left.”

Meinitrekki shook off the hand. “I can’t leave him a prisoner! What would Deiana say?”

“She would tell you to be sensible and live to fight another day. We still have the mine. We can rebuild,” said Glaswilla.

“That was what Drusus wanted. He demanded that I give him the location of the mine,” said Meinitrekki.

Glaswilla looked guilty at that. “And you couldn’t…”

“It wouldn’t have made any difference. He’d have killed us either way. It’s still better that I don’t know,” said Meinitrekki.

“I wish I’d never found it now,” said Glaswilla.

“All in the past,” said Meinitrekki. “Sulis willing, we will get our revenge upon the Roman scum and I will reclaim my son.”

It was with leaden hearts that the remaining Catuvellauni left Caer Ludein carrying the body of Queen Deiana, but Meinitrekki knew that this wasn’t over. For him it never would be until he held his son in his arms again and killed the man who took him, or died in the attempt. He might no longer have a town or army, but he still had a purpose. Drusus would die by his hand.


End file.
